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HONESTY: 
 
 a Drama, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY SPICER, Esq. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM," "LOST AND WON," &c. 
 
 Price Four Shilling*. 
 
! 
 
 HONESTY: 
 
 a Drama, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
HONESTY: 
 
 a ffirama, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 By HENRY SPICER, Esq. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM," " LOST AND WON," &c. 
 
 There's somewhat in this world amiss 
 Shall be unriddled by and by." 
 
 LONDON: 
 G. W. NICKISSON, 215 REGENT STREET. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLII. 
 
nTA 
 
 JL// 
 
 Ax 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY MOYES AND BARCLAY, CASTLE STREET, 
 LEICESTER SQUARE. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The publication of a third unacted play is an 
 attack upon the good-nature of one's friends, that 
 seems to require something like explanation, if not 
 apology. 
 
 Those, then, which were intended for the vital 
 parts (so to speak) of the following drama, were 
 written at a time when the prospect was held out of 
 the representation of one of my plays, during the 
 then curient season, upon those boards where, if 
 powerful acting, liberality, and taste in the mise en 
 seine, could have supplied the absence of vigorous 
 writing, all Lad surely gone well. 
 
 The piece, however, was not completed in time, 
 and the production of a former one — the Lords of 
 Ellingham — altered for the purpose — was pre- 
 vented (solely, as I was given to understand) by a 
 temporary illness that induced me to delay, for a 
 short time, accepting the proposal of the manage- 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 ment, to which, at any other moment, I should 
 have delightedly acceded. 
 
 Perhaps, had the time expended in re-writing 
 two plays heen less completely at my own disposal, 
 I might have more deeply regretted my dependence 
 upon the good faith of those parties who thought 
 fit to keep expectation alive, with, at least, ques- 
 tionable intentions of fulfilling it. 
 
 This, and other circumstances having somewhat 
 damped the eagerness and pleasure with which I 
 once looked forward to the representation of any 
 piece from my hand, I have aimed less at dramatic 
 effect, in the following pages, than at the completion 
 of a story of sufficient general interest to amuse 
 the friendly few who are likely to peruse it. 
 
 H. S. 
 
 6 Upper Grosvenor Street, 
 October 24, 1842. 
 
CHARACTERS. 
 
 \ Suitors to Julia. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 Sir Philip Lancaster, of honourable descent and enormous 
 
 wealth. 
 Douglas Trafford, Cousin, and the favoured suitor, of Julia. 
 Lord Seyle, ^ 
 Pembroke, 
 mordaunt, 
 Gosselin, 
 Sandell, 
 
 Francis Gage, an Advocate. 
 Cyril, his brother. 
 Deverell, a knavish usurer. 
 Fairfax, Steward to Trafford,. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Julia, only child of Lancaster. 
 
 Infelice, an Italian orphan, betrayed by Trafford. 
 
 Judges, Creditors, other suitors of Julia, Soldiers, Bailiffs, 
 Servants, fyc. fyc. 
 
 Scene. — London and the environs. 
 
HONESTY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A SALOON IN TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 It appears in great confusion, as from an over-night feast. 
 Chairs displaced — cups strewn about — with cards, dice, 
 6fc. Servants arranging the disorder. 
 
 first servant (yawning). 
 Trust me, a hearty revel ! Be there many 
 Such, and so loud ? 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 Our Christian week, sir, holds 
 
 Seven days. Be thankful they're not eight. Thou'rt spared 
 
 One banquet weekly. 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Seven feasts i' the week ! 
 But, sure, the Sabbath 
 
 B 
 
2 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 O, sir, 'tis observed. 
 
 Dice are forbid — ('tis true, the wine-cask bleeds) — 
 
 No songs — (but then the jest and roaring tale 
 
 Fill up the void). They feast — gape — snore . . . andlo! 
 
 Tis Monday — and the dice at large again. 
 
 FIRST SERVANT {looking TOWfloV), 
 
 He must be wealthy. Surely 'tis our fault 
 If we don't thrive. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 It is right shrewdly said. 
 
 Pity thy wisdom comes so late a-field ! 
 
 This is a world of change — a knavish world — 
 
 A very slippery and uncertain world ; 
 
 And if we lag and sleep, the while it turns, 
 
 'Tis ten to one our places are supplied 
 
 By better tumblers. Mark this cup, now. — Gold — 
 
 Enchased, they call it. Curious figures round 
 
 Enhance its native worth. You see it ? Nay, 
 
 Look closer yet. You see it? 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Plainly. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 Good. 
 
 I put it in my pocket. (Conceals it.) 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Well? 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 That's all : 
 
 1 put it in my pocket. Gold, sir, is 
 
 A marketable metal. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 3 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Aye, but- 
 
 SECOND SERVANT {points aCTOSS). 
 
 Look !— 
 
 There stands a pepper-castor — massive gold — 
 
 Sworn brother to the goblet. Put it up. 
 
 You pause? Permit me. {Pockets it.) Now, sir, to 
 
 explain 
 My somewhat hasty doings — simply know 
 Our master's finished. 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 Concluded, sir, — 
 
 Thrown his last cast — disbursed his final crown — 
 
 And some few more. 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Nay, then, to business. This {secreting plate, Sfc.) 
 
 For wages due — next year. — This, to repay 
 
 My loss of service. — This — hey! — stop! — 'tis he ! 
 
 And who comes with him ? {Looks out.) Fairfax. 
 second servant {snaps his finger s). 
 
 That for him ! 
 
 He is as great a — that's to say, as wise 
 
 As you or I. Shall we withdraw ? Away, then. 
 
 [As they retire, Trafford enters, Fair- 
 fax following with papers, Sfc. 
 Trafford paces the room in agita- 
 tion. 
 
FAIRFAX. 
 
 TBAFFORD. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 4 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Plate? — Jewels? 
 
 Gone. 
 
 My armoury? 
 
 Gone too. 
 
 'Twas the Lord Seyle 
 
 trafford (pausing). 
 Ha! Seyle? 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Alack! — I knew 
 
 He hath your hatred — but, what help ? — He said 
 
 In charity he bought it. — Dealt with you 
 
 For charity! — Heaven pardon him! His eye 
 
 Flickered with malice, as he mumbled that 
 
 The rats, which did infest his household, might 
 
 Henceforth have lodgings cheap. And so, with more 
 
 Ill-favoured, apish grins, and pointless jests, 
 
 Cast me his purse ; but 'twas of slight avail, 
 
 For fifty parched and droughty mouths did catch 
 
 The golden drops — aye, almost ere they fell. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Go — sell my horses. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Pardon, sir : that's done. 
 
 There's not a hair, black, sorrel, brown, or bay, 
 
 Housed in your stalls. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 5 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Psha ! — sir — 'tis fiction ! What — 
 How — must I beg? What have I left? 
 
 Fairfax {counting on his fingers). 
 Your rings. 
 Your garments — your 
 
 trafford (seizing him furiously). 
 Knave ! dost thou rob thy lord, 
 And mock him after ? If thy dismal tale 
 Be true, the proof on 't. Wherefore didst not speak 
 Of this? 
 
 Fairfax (sullenly). 
 I did. The fault was in those ears 
 That would not listen to unwelcome truths. 
 I told you we were beggars. " Beggars, ha!" 
 So you replied — "Pity the foot-sore knaves; 
 Let them be fed and seen to." Next, perchance, 
 Some banquet was ordained, and when 1 said 
 To pay that feast, your horses must — " Ha ! horse ! 
 Clean-limbed and full? Is he of caste and blood? 
 Let him be bought." Then if, in sheer despair, 
 I dashed the empty coffer on the floor, 
 And, fan wise, flourishing these pleasant scrolls, 
 Commanded your brief notice, — " Out!" you cried — 
 " Hence with these follies now ! Til look to them 
 To-morrow — or the next day — or, perhaps, 
 The next" 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Enough, sir — cut this lecture short : 
 
6 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 Seek Deverell out— the crafty usurer, 
 And bid him 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 He will lend no more. 'Tis worse — 
 He has been loud for present satisfaction 
 Of monies long fall'n due. Yet more I dread 
 His sudden quiet. He's a beast that loves 
 An ambush to his soul ! 
 
 tr afford (agitated). 
 To be struck down 
 
 Within a leap of safety ! Three short months 
 Of closer suit had won me the fair child 
 
 Of wealthy Lancaster, — and Fellow thou — 
 
 Hast thou dealt truly with me ? Proofs of this — 
 Thy proofs ? 
 
 FAIRFAX {coolly). 
 
 A legion, sir. 
 
 [Opens a door at the back, through which 
 enter a number of persons of mean 
 appearance — creditors of Tr afford. 
 Fairfax retires. 
 tr afford {starting back). 
 Am I beset 
 With thieves? My steward, sirs, shall 
 
 FIRST CREDITOR. 
 
 Sir, our throats 
 
 Are hoarse with pressing him for aid ; our feet 
 Weary with tracking him. He bade us hither, 
 Saying that when you saw our wasted mien, 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 
 
 And ragged robes, you could not choose but hear, 
 And give us monies — he himself had none. 
 
 trafford {after a pause addressing one). 
 Your claim ? 
 
 FIRST CREDITOR. 
 
 Tis quickly said. You owe me, sir, 
 
 A poor five hundred crowns. That's, to your worship, 
 
 A supper missed — to me, existence. Sir, 
 
 Fever attacked my house. No leech was there 
 
 To stop the plague — no nurse to soothe — no priest 
 
 To whisper comfort. My young son was seized, 
 
 And ta'en to sea. I could not buy him off: 
 
 These woes broke down my father's heart. Last night 
 
 The old man died. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 A sad tale, briefly told. 
 Well, sir, your claim? 
 
 SECOND CREDITOR. 
 
 Your steward came to me 
 
 Weeping, and cursing the hard fate that made him 
 Slave to a thriftless lord. He knew my soul 
 Did teem with gracious feelings, as my purse 
 With cash ; and still his cry was gold — gold — gold- 
 Give him but gold, and — so Heaven prosper him — 
 It should be paid — yea, trebly. . . .By my heart, 
 I could not see the old man weep, and tear 
 Locks white as these. I pledged my house, my land, 
 Yea, all my substance — gave him what he sought, 
 And, for return, am beggared. For the debt, 
 I will forgive it — noble sir, — I will — 
 
8 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 Being no usurer — give but half—- mark that — 
 But half mine own. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Enough — stand back, old friend. 
 We'll speak again. And thou? 
 
 THIRD CREDITOR. 
 
 I dealt in gems. 
 
 The Lady Julia 
 
 trafford (hastily). 
 So — the pearls. Go on. 
 But to the tale. What next ? 
 
 THIRD CREDITOR. 
 
 Good sir, no more, — 
 
 No more ; for, with those priceless gems, was strung 
 
 The hoarding of a life. My credit's gone 
 
 From too much faith in your nobility ; 
 
 And I, once rich in good report, am called 
 
 Rogue, cheat, and thief! Sir, you may pay the debt — 
 
 Save me from starving — give me back the gems — 
 
 But you have crushed a fairer pearl than all — 
 
 Mine honourable name. 
 
 FIRST CREDITOR. 
 
 O, sir, reflect ! 
 
 Sickness and Famine — these are dreary guards 
 
 Before our daily threshold. 
 
 SECOND CREDITOR. 
 
 Sir, the law 
 
 Would aid us — aye, and surely — but we'd trust 
 
 Your goodness rather. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 9 
 
 THIRD CREDITOR. 
 
 But the means to cure 
 My wounded name 
 
 Is 
 ■5 
 
 
 FIRST CREDITOR. 
 
 The sick ones, sir, at home ! 
 
 SECOND CREDITOR. 
 
 Half, sir ; but half! 
 
 FIRST CREDITOR. 
 
 Something the while for food. 
 
 SEVERAL. 
 
 Sir — sir — in pity! 
 
 tr afford {apart). 
 And this work is mine. 
 
 I — /have made these poor homes desolate — 
 From infant mouths kept back the wholesome food — 
 Brought clouds upon the fair and prosperous morn 
 Of honest industry ; trod merit down ; 
 Struck from the old man's hand the crutch and stay, 
 And left him prostrate ! — I — O God ! — their tales 
 Cry to me with a truthful, hungry woe, 
 Like half-repented sins . . . Ho there! within — 
 Fairfax ! 
 
 [Enter Deverell with Officers. 
 
 OFFICER {tO DEVERELL). 
 
 Our man, sir ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 In the gold brocade. 
 
 Flowers spring in dungheaps; gaudy feathers root 
 
 In rankest carrion. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Villain! beast! How now? 
 
10 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 Thou crawling, cozening slave ! dost thou lift up 
 Thy heel against me ? Where's thy fawning now ? 
 Thy beck, thy grins, thy honeyed speeches ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Gone 
 
 On errands of more profit. Come, sir, shape 
 
 Your language to your state. — Why do ye pause ? 
 
 Arrest this man. His three chief debts are mine, 
 
 Which if he pay not, doit and stiver down, — 
 
 Farewell this goodly day. 'Twill tease his eyes 
 
 No more. [A Servant enters with a letter. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Sir, from Sir Philip Lancaster, 
 
 Urging your presence. [Exit. 
 
 tr afford {reads eagerly). 
 What ! — hum — ha ! — ha!— ha ! 
 Lancaster to the rescue ! Glorious missive ! 
 All's saved — all's well ! [Reads again. 
 
 officer (aside to deverell). 
 Shall we proceed, sir ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Fool! 
 
 Would you lift canvass ere you know the wind 1 
 
 {To Trafford.) Your noble kinsman, sir, I trust, is well 
 
 As his best friends could wish. His age 
 
 trafford. 
 Here still ? 
 
 Be of our council then. Come hither. Read 
 
 What say you ? 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 11 
 
 DEYERELL (bowing). 
 
 Sir, your very humble slave. 
 Shall I be favoured with your 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Where's thy purse? 
 
 Quick, sir, — so — so — hast more ? Then skip — 'Twould 
 
 pose 
 The devil, to tell which side of thy double face 
 Shews uglier — slave or bully ! 
 
 [Exeunt Deverell and Officers. 
 Leave me now, 
 
 My friends ; and mark — to-morrow each man's claim 
 Shall meet due justice. Stay ! there's gold for those 
 Whose wants are loudest-tongued. You, sir, away 
 To your sick brood. Hold ! — take this ring — provide 
 Good lodging, and withal such comfort as 
 Their grief hath stomach for. Farewell ! — away ! 
 And fail me not to-morrow. 
 
 [Exeunt Creditors. Re-enter Fairfax. 
 Now, good Fairfax, 
 
 Is not this well ? Sir Philip writes me here, 
 That, hearing of my suit so fondly urged 
 To his fair daughter, and sole heiress — and 
 Feeling that wealth so vast as must endow 
 That tender spirit, asks some sterner hand 
 To wield — requires me therefore put, at once, 
 My hope to issue. If I win — (reading) I win 
 Her heart, then. "Take her," it concludes — aye, "take her, 
 Good Master Trafford — she is thine ! " O, joy ! 
 O, heaven ! 
 
12 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 You love her, then, sir ? 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Why — of course : 
 
 She will expect it. But her wealth, man ! think 
 
 Of that ! To stop yon howling throats — to sweep 
 
 Out of my fortune's droughty channel, with 
 
 This rich and bounteous stream, yon carrion flies 
 
 That 'gin to settle there — to scatter flowers 
 
 In her fair path whose wealth provides them ; — then, 
 
 If there be surplusage 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 What then ? 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 To build 
 
 An altar, Fortune, to thy goddesship ; 
 
 For ever when my need has blamed thee most, 
 
 Hast thou been near me. 
 
 Fairfax (anxiously). 
 But, sir, are you sure 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Of winning ? As that thou art. — Listen, sir — 
 Thine ear, — nay, thou art old, and reck'st not of 
 Such toys. O, Fairfax, be content — she's mine / 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 13 
 
 SCENE II.— A MAGNIFICENT APARTMENT IN THE HOUSE 
 OF SIR PHILIP LANCASTER. 
 
 He is seated in a large chair, Julia on a low seat at his side. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 How ! leave you, sir ? Is your poor nurse become 
 So rude and careless in her ministry, 
 
 So drowsy in her vigil 
 
 sir philip {fretfully). 
 No, girl, no ! 
 
 I said not that. Why do you ever thus 
 Strive to pervert my meaning ? Wherefore daub 
 In false and ugly colours, wrung from your 
 Wrong fancy, my poor, honest thought ; and teach 
 My servants likewise ? You believe me — aye - — 
 Aye — by your winks, side-looks, and sneers, you think me 
 A weak old man — a pettish, weak old man ! 
 One to be dawdled, humoured, trifled with — 
 Told fondling lies 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Nay — nay, dear sir. 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 A child, 
 
 That must be put, with soothing, sugared words, 
 
 From dangerous asking. Why, what's seen in me 
 
 To argue dotage ? When do I sit at gaze, 
 
 Gibbering, and making mouths at vacancy ? — 
 
 Call the stars comfits — think this chair my steed — 
 
14 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 Wash hands i' the moonlight ? Daughter, I will prove 
 My manhood now. — But, Julia — Julia — child, 
 Tis hard that thou should'st mock me ! 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 If one thought 
 
 Untempered with its most fit attributes — 
 
 Dear love and deepest reverence — ever stirred 
 
 Within my breast, or quickened on my lip 
 
 In words, may the great ear of Heaven be sealed, 
 
 For ever, 'gainst my prayer, and mostly then 
 
 When my poor soul hath need. 
 
 sir philip {fretfully). 
 Let her speak on ! 
 
 Still pausing — still — whene'er my soul grows warm, 
 And steals into the music ! . . . . O my bird — 
 My melodist ! whose song so gently chides 
 My erring fancies home — when thou art caged, 
 Must thou, as all thy prisoned wood mates do, 
 Give up thy wilding sweetness ? I'll not think 
 Of that — Alas, me ! — Warble as thou wilt, 
 I shall not hear thee. [ Weeps. 
 
 julia {apart). 
 There's some painful thought — 
 Or half-born purpose, struggling in his brain, 
 That vainly taxes the enfeebled mind 
 For aid to live. I'll humour it. . . . Dear sir, 
 Why then fling forth your happy bird to find 
 Some rough, exacting master, who will change 
 The songs you love to weeping ? Is't to mend 
 Her fortunes? — They are whole. Win pleasures ? — Why, 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 15 
 
 I would not give — no, not for twenty thrones — 
 This low stool at your feet. 
 
 sir philip {quickly). 
 Nay, but you must — 
 
 And shall ! I'll have no glittering, foppish fools — 
 Pert, feathered popinjays — come swaggering here, 
 Peeping, and pointing at a fond, fair girl, 
 Who — to their envy and her own lost pain — 
 Wastes the bright sunshine of her happiest years 
 Upon an old, gnarled tree. Owls as they are, 
 There's truth in their dull croakings. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Aye — enough 
 
 To give the lie to their wisdom. Dearest father, 
 
 Let me be still your 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Child — I need thee not. 
 
 Love thee — how dearly ! — but I need thee not. 
 
 Yes — thou — my music, light, and strength, and eye — 
 
 The one green leaf crowning my wint'ry age — 
 
 My comfortable book, wherein I read 
 
 Sweet tales of heaven ! thou must begone, forsake 
 
 Thy fair affections, excellent gifts — and gild 
 
 One of that covetous myriad. To that end, 
 
 I have bade them hither. 
 
 julia (faintly). 
 Who, my father? 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Who! 
 
 Your suitors, child. All that desire to win 
 
 Your love or gold . Proud Pembroke — Douglas Trafford — 
 
16 HONESTY. [Act I. 
 
 Thy mincing flatterer, yonder — he that sings — 
 Mordaunt, the soldier — the grim miser, Seyle — 
 And flocks of meaner note — all craving. I 
 Proclaimed an open field, and there shall be, 
 I trow, no lack of champions. 
 
 julia (starting up). 
 How, sir! make 
 A market of your child ? 
 
 sir philip (seizing her hand). 
 Dare but oppose 
 
 My will in this, and — darling as thou art — 
 The knot that ties together my old life — 
 I'll sever thee ! Say 'tis my will herein 
 To prove thy wit and judgment. Choose thou shalt — 
 Not as I point — no, no — take or reject — 
 Break hearts or heal them — patch torn fortunes — shew 
 Vain heads their emptiness — smile — weep — or frown — 
 None shall say nay — I would not seek to bind 
 Thy tender judgment to an old warped will — 
 No — Heaven forbid, my child. Ho, there! — within! 
 
 [Servants enter. 
 My daughter needs her tirewomen. The guests 
 Arrive ? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 The hall is thronged, sir. Some remain 
 Still in the antechamber. 
 
 sir philip (signs to Attendants). 
 Here — I come. [Exeunt, 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — THE STREET EXTERIOR OF SIR PHILIP'S 
 MANSION. 
 
 Guests arriving from time to time. — Enter F. Gage, a 
 Pauper following. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Nay, spare thy thanks, man ; T rejoice with thee. 
 Not I — but truth, put forth thy stifled wrongs ; 
 Not I — but justice, gave them victory : 
 Therefore, no more. Haste, and make glad thy home, 
 And husband thy new gain. 
 
 PAUPER. 
 
 But, sir — dear sir — 
 
 Touching the wage wherewith I said — (I don't 
 
 Mean to deny it) I would pay your toil, 
 
 Should it avail aught — you must think that, now, 
 
 Being rich, my neighbours will expect some show 
 
 Befitting 
 
 gage (aside, observing guests). 
 Still they come ! . . . Still more — and yet 
 'Tis but a churlish revel. No fair face 
 
 c 
 
18 HONESTY. [Act II. 
 
 In all their gilded rout ! — Ha, Seyle ! Is't thou ? 
 It was a spell of power made thee assume 
 Thy golden tatters ! 
 
 PAUPER. 
 
 As I was saying, sir — 
 
 True, I am rich; but wealth, so hardly won, 
 
 Should be spent sparingly. If these ten crowns 
 
 gage (aside, eagerly). 
 The strangest concourse! Mordaunt, too, and Graeme — 
 In faith, here will be jarring interests, 
 Or rumour lies. Who next ? 
 
 pauper (aside). 
 Nay, if he cares 
 
 No more for't — these five crowns — or three — or none — 
 Sir — hem ! Good morning ! 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Stay — your suit is won. 
 
 You are rich — have plenty ; I have nor wealth, nor friend, 
 Save a poor brother, hunger-sick, at home! 
 (Aside.) Still they throng in. Hark, man — I am dis- 
 tressed — 
 Give me — or lend ! 
 
 pauper (aside). 
 So poor ! A trifle, then, 
 
 Will answer all. My good friend, if this crown 
 May help thee, take it. Justice won my cause, 
 Not thou. [Exit. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Alack, poor honesty! What, Trafford! 
 
 [Enter 'Trafford and Pembroke. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY, 19 
 
 How the knave porter cringes, as to one 
 
 May be his lord ! They linger 
 
 [He retires. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Truly, now — 
 
 (I have a reason for this strange demand — ) 
 
 Hast ever loved? 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Loved! No — yes — no. I don't 
 
 Precisely recollect — but, I should say, 
 
 I never did. I've watched the sufferers, though, 
 
 From the disorder. When the wretch sits — thus — 
 
 With knitted brow, thinking he thinks — speaks short — 
 
 Refuses wine — looks sheepish — cares not much 
 
 (Bad symptom that) for play — he's sickening. When 
 
 This calm is streaked with passion, the locked lips 
 
 Open and curl, with sneers — that man's deceived, 
 
 And convalescent. But if three long months 
 
 Pass o'er him, and no change — the pulse still high — 
 
 Sleep troubled — mind abstract — and language wild — 
 
 He's dead and gone — in love. He's fit for nought 
 
 But to be scarecrow to the rest. — No, no ! 
 
 I'll be no lazar in love's hospital. 
 
 [ They pass in. 
 gage (advancing). 
 I can endure no more. To question now 
 
 Yon lackered menial Stoop, good pride. 
 
 So, friend, [Approaches a Servant at the door. 
 
 Sir Philip feasts to-day ? 
 
20 HONESTY. [Act II. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 If that your worship 
 Except not to his purpose. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Courteous sir, 
 
 I must be bold to tax your patience with 
 One other question. What event imports 
 This throng of manly feasters ? 
 
 servant (surveying him impudently). 
 Truly, friend, 
 
 Thou dost not crawl at the tail of fortune's race 
 Through lack of impudence. Know, then, my master 
 Holds, as it were, a tournament — the course 
 Being love — arms, purses — sword and lance, sweet words — 
 The prize, my lady Julia ; free to all 
 
 Of worth and breeding 
 
 gage (eagerly). 
 Speak'st the truth, thou knave ? 
 Let me go in. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Oh, yes — a likely tale ! 
 Yonder's the tavern, sir. 
 
 gage (seizing him). 
 Fool ! — beast and fool ! / 
 
 Did you not tell me — Back, or 
 
 servant (calls loudly). 
 Ho ! — within ! [Enter Steward. 
 
 Well, sir ! What now, sir? Is your humour tamed? 
 Shall we 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 21 
 
 steward (to Servant). 
 In, fool ! Ill-tongued and meddling knave, 
 Who bade you flout as true a gentleman 
 As any there, albeit his honest gown 
 Affects not gawd or foppery ? [Exit Servant. 
 
 Pardon him, 
 
 Good master Gage ; I know you, and — I trust — 
 So does my mistress. It was no slight aid 
 You rendered yestermorn, when your prompt hand 
 Reined in her frightened steed. Will you go in ? 
 This way the guest-room lies — but, sir — I fear — 
 
 [Exeunt speaking. 
 
 SCENE II.—A SALOON. 
 
 Sir Philip seated. — Julia beside him. — Trafford stands 
 near her. — Pembroke, Lord Seyle, Sandell, Gos- 
 selin, Mordaunt, and others, suitors, standing or 
 walking, in conversation. 
 
 GOSSELIN. 
 
 Psha ! sorry jesting, was't not? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Tis so old 
 
 A loser's fashion, to abuse the game, 
 
22 HONESTY. [Act II. 
 
 I hold my tongue : but I had no chance — none — 
 Nor hope to win. 
 
 SANDELL. 
 
 Nor I. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 I would there were 
 
 Less of the angel in that face ! 
 
 seyle {aside). 
 Or fewer 
 
 In good Sir Philip's coffers. I can less 
 Forgive their want. 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Why, how now, gentlemen ! 
 Silenced so soon ! Your merits and your claims, 
 So deftly weighed and rated? When I wooed, 
 I would have ta'en my sword-knot for a rope, 
 And hanged myself i' the gate, ere I'd have been 
 So quickly answered. One would think this wench 
 Had better patience — less desire to quit 
 Her old, weak, whimsical, tyrannical sire, 
 Than hath been boldly spoken; and must this — 
 This beauty own no lord — this princely wealth 
 No master ? Fie ! What's to be done in this 
 Sad strait? You, master Trafford, you alone — 
 I think — of all this goodly company — 
 Have not essayed if yon fair, open palm 
 Hath will to close yet. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 O sir, I await 
 
 My turn. What champion next ? [Enter a Servant. 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 23 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 A gentleman 
 
 Claims audience, sir, and 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Bid him come. 
 
 trafford (aside). 
 Another! 
 
 The show will ne'er be done ! Some giddy fool ! 
 
 [Enter F. Gage. 
 No — as I live, the cunning man of law 
 That pleaded 'gainst me when yon beggar won 
 Redress — 'twas called so — for the means wherewith 
 I wrested from him what I thought my own ! 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Your name is — 
 
 gage. 
 It is — Gage. 
 
 trafford. 
 More often styled 
 " The beggar's advocate." 
 
 gage (turning). 
 Sir, if your wit 
 
 Produce no fairer sample, this keen jest 
 Shall draw no strife between us. 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Heed him not, 
 
 Good master — Pardon me ; my memory halts 
 At a new name. Your outward fashion, sir, 
 Plain though it be — endangers not your end, 
 
24 HONESTY. [Act II. 
 
 So there be that within, may challenge claim 
 To my child's love. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Sir, he has none. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 No claim ! 
 
 No claim ! — Oh ! by that heaven whose equal will, 
 
 Scorning man's weak and petty laws, knits up 
 
 The rent and various fragments of this world, 
 
 In one great family — I do put forth 
 
 Claims great and manifold ! — I loved this lady — 
 
 And do believe that love so hopeless, yet 
 
 So true, doth draw into itself some part 
 
 Of the perfection of the thing beloved — 
 
 Breathing an essence, a sweet, natural life, 
 
 In the else worthless void. Did I lack blood, 
 
 This had ennobled me. Were I poor — (and 'faith, 
 
 The ravens are my betters, seeking not 
 
 In vain their daily bread) — this, this had been 
 
 My mighty and exhaustless treasure-house. 
 
 O, I have claim to all, save hope — and that 
 
 Belongs to fairer fortunes. 
 
 SIR PHILIP. 
 
 Frankly said. 
 Your answer, girl ? 
 
 julia (in a low voice). 
 What other, sir, than that 
 Which to no stranger, like this gentleman, 
 Can sound ungracious? Thanks — no more. 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 25 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 And such a stranger, madam, that no chance — 
 No trick of juggling fortune, ever placed 
 That hand in mine ? 
 
 trafford {apart). 
 What means the fellow ? He 
 
 Clasp hands with — Why, by heaven, her brow is flame — 
 And 'tis not anger, nor amazement — no ! 
 Those eyes have met, too. {Aside to her.) 
 Cousin — Julia — madam! 
 What mystery is here ? What secret power 
 Holds yon pale mummer o'er thy speaking blood ? 
 How — mute ? [Approaches Sir P. and speaks aside. 
 
 gage {aside). 
 Pity and pride at strife ! . . . . Enough. 
 Thou wouldst not know me, Julia ; so, indeed, 
 Thou shalt not .... I mistook, sirs, and my claims 
 Are even as my hopes — and that is — nothing. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Then wherefore came you hither, sir ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 To glean 
 
 One ray of honour for an ill-starred name ; 
 Once to look nearly on a beautiful world 
 Impervious to my tread ; perchance to paint 
 In a few cold, blank, dreary words, this sea 
 Of swelling passion, — then resume the path 
 I ne'er had quitted — if — But who that loves 
 Is wise ? I pray you, pardon, if my speech 
 
26 HONESTY. [Act II. 
 
 Lacks some coherence. I have slept ill — am sick 
 
 With toil — or tears There is no more to say~ 
 
 Only be it recorded on my grave 
 
 That I did love the lady Julia. [Going. 
 
 trafford (starting forward). 
 By heaven, she weeps ! Fellow, whoe'er thou art, 
 Take thyself hence — or shall my grooms essay 
 What weight of whipcord best may penetrate 
 Thy leathern jerkin ? 
 
 [Gage turns fiercely upon him, but 
 
 restrains himself. The rest draw 
 
 back. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Fear not, gentlemen— 
 
 I am a harmless maniac— while you let 
 
 My passion sleep . . .(Approaches Julia and speaks low.) 
 
 Ah, lady — could you read 
 
 The haughty spirit bowed before you here— 
 
 This would you grant me yet. 'Tis said, your voice, 
 
 Out of its strangely soothing melody, 
 
 Hath made the hearers weep. O, speak to me ! 
 
 One word — in pity — one — nay, what thou wilt — 
 
 Presumptuous beggar — peasant — menial — slave ! 
 
 Lady — (looks round) — I feel their mocking eyes like fire — 
 
 Their smiles like writhing serpents. Speak, and lift 
 
 A million worlds above their ribaldry, 
 
 The soul that, for thy sake, hath turned from heaven, 
 
 Loving thee more — 
 
 trafford (coming forward). 
 Enough, sir — you have urged 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 27 
 
 This bold presumption to the limit of 
 Extremest courtesy. Withdraw. You are well 
 And kindly answered. 
 
 gage {standing with folded arms before her). 
 Lady — not a word? (She does not notice him.) 
 
 trafford (enraged). 
 Will you not hear me, fellow? Feel, then ! — 
 
 [Strikes him with his riding-rod. 
 Gage seizes him, and wrests 
 it from his hand. Trafford 
 draws. 
 sir philip (starting up). 
 Hold! 
 
 Desist, young sir ! . . . Cease, Douglas : cease, I say, 
 This coward brawling. O, sir — does the word 
 Offend? — Your sword upon a man unarmed, 
 Who but repulses your untutored rage ! 
 Before my child, too? Tut! — learn better, sir. 
 My friends, since these hot spirits have embroiled 
 Our peaceful meeting, let us to the board, 
 And you, too, master Advocate. — Nay, then, 
 E'en as you choose. — Farewell. [Exit Gage. 
 
 You, cousin Trafford, 
 
 Who, cunning archer as thou art, hast kept 
 Thine arrow back— to prove how large a crowd 
 Thy better skill can shame— I pr'ythee keep not 
 My daughter long in council. Till she comes 
 I fast. [Exeunt all but Trafford awe? Julia. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 So, madam, this fair farce being done, 
 
28 HONESTY. [Act .11. 
 
 And one sole puppet left upon the board, 
 Will 't please you touch the wire ? 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Will 't please you, then, 
 Instruct me ? 
 
 trafford {impatiently). 
 Sweet, no further mockery — 
 Long have you known my heart. — In honesty, 
 I do believe thou'rt mine : therefore, at once 
 Speak it — and with one gracious word repay 
 The insults unavenged, so lately borne, 
 And for thy sake. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 I humbly thank you, sir. 
 
 And, since repentance must be shewn by prompt 
 
 Confession — I have loved you, cousin. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Aye— 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Aye — so it is — or was ; for, as I live, 
 I like not tavern brawls ; not much affect 
 Their company, who riot, drink, pervert 
 The darling ends of wisdom, and believe 
 Love's hallowed fabric based on filthy gold. 
 I will not be commanded, — yea, myself 
 Being proud, do, as the proud are ever wont, 
 Dislike my haughty peers. So, for these causes, 
 I will not be your wife. Nay — not a word — 
 I will not hear thee speak ; nor e'en endure 
 Thy longer presence. Cousin, fare thee well. 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 29 
 
 Get thee another riding-rod — and cease 
 Thy swaggering exploits in the hall of peace. 
 
 [Exit Julia. 
 
 SCENE III.__.THE HALL OF TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 A crowd of persons. Fairfax at a table, with money, 6fc. 
 
 Fairfax (paying several). 
 There — there — and there. Still crowding! I have but 
 Two hands, and that's a couple more than men 
 Like using for this sport. There, sir ; take back 
 Thy burly form — and give thy weaker friend 
 Some chance to get his own. This is a court 
 Where justice' scales weigh truly. Hold, man — so — 
 
 A MAN. 
 
 Good sir, you've paid me double. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Heaven and earth! — 
 
 Have we an artist here ? Take this man's face — 
 Get it thrice copied. Hang up one i' the market — 
 One in the palace — (Hold, sir; take thy gold.) — 
 One in my lady's bower. 'Tis honesty 
 Disguised as man ! (Looks round.) Content? 
 
 MANY VOICES. 
 
 All! all! 
 
 [Trafford enters cloaked, and, 
 pauses unobserved. 
 
30 HONESTY. [Act II. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Off then, 
 
 Ye cormorants ! — and, mark me, give not out 
 
 That 'tis a roguish world. Two proofs are here 
 
 In contradiction One man claims no more 
 
 Than his fair due. Another — that's my lord — | 
 Strips his own shoulders ; sells his horses — rings — 
 Begs, borrows — yea, he pilfers, since 'tis theft 
 Fondly to trust the future — and all this 
 To see your claims amended. 
 
 [JExeunt Creditors. Trafford advances. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Fairfax ! — 
 
 Ha! 
 
 This is the truth? 
 
 Fairfax (starting). 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Aye, sir ; what boots it now 
 
 To save the crumbs, when, from the royal feast, 
 
 The lady Julia's lord may surely 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Man!— 
 
 That hope — 'tis gone — 'tis lost? Have we no rope 
 Save that ? — 'Tis shipwreck, and all's done. E'en now 
 We drift upon the rocks — lost, shattered, sunk, 
 Beyond a hope or succour. 
 
 Fairfax {aghast). 
 And — and — Deverell ! 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 31 
 
 trafford {gazing round). 
 Death to the hound ! Smells he the blood already ? 
 What's to be done ? Go howl to Lancaster 
 For his proud child! — No — dotard as he is, 
 He will not cross her .... Might he die this night — 
 Much would be mine — and, Julia, but to bend 
 Thy haughty neck ! — 
 
 Fairfax {aside). 
 How pale he looks ?- Dear sir — 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Give me my cloak — I'll taste the air. I want 
 My sword, too. Never look so frightened, man ! 
 I know what fancy moves thee.— Were it so, 
 Wherefore should I go forth ? If I sought death, 
 My soul would pierce these roofs as easily 
 As 'twould the yielding and invisible air 
 Before my footstep .... Follow not, I say. 
 
 [He goes out. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1.— A MEANLY FURNISHED CHAMBER. 
 
 F. Gage writing by a feeble lamp.-— Cyril lies stretched 
 upon a rude mattrass on the floor, 
 
 gage {after looking up impatiently). 
 No rest! no peace! Boy — Cyril — boy, I say — 
 Now you feign sleep — come, come — your lips but now 
 Shaped out articulate words. Could you be still — 
 Vexing yourself, you torture me — and turn 
 The idle loathing of a petted child 
 'Gainst slumber's medicine. Why so restless, boy ? 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 Because I cannot sleep. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 You sigh, too. Why 
 
 Is that ? It troubles me. Why do you sigh ? 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 For idleness. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Tut— tut— 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 For pastime, then. 
 
Scene L] HONESTY. 33 
 
 gage (aside). 
 He will not say — for hunger. Toss and turn, 
 The fiend pursues. Hark, Cyril ! if I play 
 The slave for both, give me at least obedience, 
 Though I lack love. 
 
 cyril (starting up). 
 The slave for — love ! Oh, brother, 
 Have I not sought — aye, even with tears — to share 
 This labour with you ? I have strength — and — now — 
 Who's sick ? Who's idle ? Look, a page complete, 
 While yours is scarce begun. 
 
 gage (snatching cyril's pen). 
 Do you forget 
 
 I am your elder, sir? What folly's this ? 
 You shall do no work, I say! 
 
 cyril (faintly). 
 Yes, by your leave. 
 Must you, though elder, slave for both ? 
 
 gage (falling on his shoulder). 
 My Cyril, 
 
 Not in a selfish, vain reproach I spoke 
 Those seeming bitter words — but boasting more 
 The right of elder birth, to bear the load 
 That Fortune lays upon us. Nought beside 
 I claim — but this as jealously maintain 
 As any king his crown. Abide we firm, 
 And, be the seed-time weary as it will, 
 Fair harvest shall be shewn. 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 I care not — 1 — 
 
34 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 Let grief, let famine, crush their victims down — 
 There is more blessing in your love, dear brother, 
 Than fear in that word — death. I do not wish 
 To live. Do you ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Do I ? What ! Cyril - fold 
 
 Our idle arms, and sink — because the land 
 
 Is hard to reach ! Come — 'tis a coward creed — 
 
 Why those, my boy, whom giddy fortune showers 
 
 Her costliest favours on, who glitter by 
 
 Wrapt in her flimsy shows — drunk with her smile — 
 
 Are Heaven's least favoured children. The respect, 
 
 The praise, the love, that's wrung with force and pain 
 
 From churlish bosoms, is a richer boon 
 
 Than Fortune's total store can grace us with — 
 
 Leaving the giver's heart, as it wakes ours, 
 
 Healthier and happier. Come — to rest, again. 
 
 So — there — to rest — [Cyril lies down and sleeps. 
 
 At last. Thanks, kindly sleep — 
 
 Unfee'd physician ! work thy cure. . . . For me, 
 
 I can nor rest, nor labour. 
 
 [He moves restlessly about— pauses. 
 The dull grey 
 
 Of morn peeps through the broken pane. — 'Tis well. 
 Another night has crept into the void 
 And silent space of that eternity 
 That went before the world If I have scorned, 
 
 restful night ! thy brief and priced hours, 
 
 1 have robbed them of their sterner portion, too — 
 Dark dream and bitter fancy 
 
 [A knock. He does not heed it. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 35 
 
 O, my dreams, 
 
 You are too hopeful — too untutored yet — 
 
 I may not trust ye Julia, might'st thou wear 
 
 That peace thou tak'st away ! . . . Is then my love 
 So guilty-deep, that only scorn can pay .... 
 
 [Knocking repeated. 
 No hope, indeed — in all the world, no hope! 
 Those desolate words, howled from the wilderness, 
 
 Or muttered from the grave 
 
 [Enter Deverell, bursting in the door. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 What airs are these, 
 
 That keep me knocking at your beggarly hutch, 
 As though I were your servant, fellow — not 
 You, mine ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 You have supplied the reason. 'Tis 
 A beggarly hutch, and not a palace. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 What! 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 I say, 'tis not a palace. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Well? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 No need 
 
 To thunder at a poor man's door. 'Tis free 
 To all — as 'tis to death. Lock, bolt, and guard 
 The columned hall, lest shoeless beggary 
 Should mar the galliard, or pale famine scare 
 
36 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 The stomach of my lord. ( Turns away.) I am a fool 
 To rail ! 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Proceed, sir. Where didst learn this fine 
 Philosophy ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 In sorrow's school. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 He's a true marvel, that same pedagogue ; — - 
 There's not a student, under his wise rule, 
 But he's a paragon of virtue ! Come — 
 My papers — are they finished ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 No. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 No! Not! 
 
 Not finished ? And you dare sit idling here ! 
 
 Why, sirrah, 'tis a loss of fifty pounds — 
 
 A fair half-hundred gathered from my chest, — 
 
 If 'tis a penny! 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 And to me a loss 
 
 Of — let me see — five groats. Is't not enough 
 
 To starve ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Hark, sirrah ! I have known you long, 
 
 And learned your fashions. In the eyes of men 
 
 You do affect a breathless industry — 
 
 A very lust of labour — a fine love 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 37 
 
 Of honesty, which, much exalting thee, 
 
 Of all men else makes thieves ; yet here you sit 
 
 In sullen laziness, that hardly deigns 
 
 Move hand to lip, charged with the unearned food 
 
 That better men provide thee. As for him, 
 
 Yon snoring whelp — I'll quickly — {Approaches Cyril.) 
 
 gage (starting up.) 
 No — stand back ! 
 
 He is too ill to labour. You may read 
 So much in that white cheek. Stand back, sir! — or — 
 {Aside) But patience first — Good master Deverell — 
 I pray you, do not touch my gentle brother, 
 Whom sickness harms enough. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 'Sdeath! but I will. 
 
 Get up, sir ! (Shakes him). He's no relative of mine — 
 
 But he's my servant, whom my charity 
 
 Pays — feeds, — Awake! . . . My roof, too — Up! No drones 
 
 Hive here ! 
 
 [Snatches up the bed, and Cyril falls 
 forward on the floor. 
 gage (rushing on him). 
 Thou thing of self — un mannered beast ! — 
 Aping man's presence ! I have manhood left 
 To punish thee! 
 
 [Hurls him to the other end of the room. 
 Cheerly, my Cyril. Nay, 
 He is not worth a look. Lie down again — 
 And now I sit beside thee ; if yon wretch 
 Lift but a finger, he shall smart for it ! 
 
38 HONESTY. [Act TIL 
 
 deverell {who has risen slowly). 
 Who houses serpents must beware their sting. 
 It is a perilous trade, and I'll be quit on't — 
 Boys ! — we will speak again. [Exit Deverell. 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 Where is he gone ? 
 What said he, brother ? 
 
 gage. 
 Nay, I care not — yet 
 The red, malignant flicker his dull eye 
 Sent back to us, spoke mischief. Would thou hadst 
 A strength sufficient to come forth and seek 
 A better, friendlier shelter than this wretch, 
 For his own niggard ends, hath tempted me 
 
 Too rashly to embrace. If any 
 
 [Re-enter Deverell. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Now, 
 
 Good, gentle master Francis — aye, and you, 
 My pretty Cyril, though I'd willingly, 
 For very love of such good company, 
 Bear with some loss — I cannot entertain 
 Guests of such hot design. If I mistake not, 
 There stands a brief account between us here — 
 For food — for coin advanced — for lodging. Now, 
 Pay me — or tramp ! 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 Alas ! good master 
 
 gage {pointing to cyril). 
 Look! 
 He's ill. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 39 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 The alms-house or the hospital ; 
 
 Or, at the worst, six boards, and nought to pay 
 
 The sexton. Come, sir. What! no money? None? 
 
 Shall I be swindled thus, and when I come 
 
 Softly to seek mine own, be trundled down 
 
 Like ninepins at a fair ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Let us remain 
 
 Till evening, and I will account to thee 
 
 For more than is thy due. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Do you forget 
 
 The blow ? I do not. Were yon livid wretch 
 At his last gasp, he should not spend it here ! 
 You know the law, sir. Out he goes — away ! 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Why, then, he shall not ! 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Good; I will assist 
 
 You forth. [Stamps — Bailiff and Assistants enter. 
 
 Now, Master Grasp, come in, and rid 
 
 My dove's nest of these cuckoos. 
 
 [Cyril leans faintly on F. Gage, 
 gage. 
 Such revenge 
 
 Is worth resisting ! Force alone shall move us 
 Even from so foul a den. [Enter Pembroke. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Is this — How now? 
 What brawl is here ? 
 
40 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Another creditor! 
 
 A fellow- victim of mine own ! What wool 
 Hast thou been fleeced of, brother innocent ? 
 Let's bleat our griefs together. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 I am sent 
 
 To master Gage. Is this his chamber, sir ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 No, sir, 'tis mine; though, 'faith, this advocate — 
 This man of law — would fain have argument 
 Whether it be mine or no. But, ne'ertheless, 
 Your pleasure with him ? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 You're his clerk, then ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 I! 
 
 His clerk! His — I! — Ha, ha! Hear, gentlemen, 
 I am this fellow's — 'Sdeath, sir, you shall see 
 Who's clerk — who's master. Troop, ye vagabonds — 
 Out — out, I say ! 
 
 Pembroke {interposing). 
 Have patience, sir; I come 
 To Francis Gage, the honest advocate: 
 If I mistake not, this is he — albeit 
 Was never worth more worthlessly bestowed — 
 More strangely companied. {To F. G.) May I entreat 
 Some words in private ? 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 If the street may serve 
 
 For council-chamber. This fine lawyer, sir, 
 
Scene!.] HONESTY. 41 
 
 Hath not a closet, save what sparrows, daws, 
 
 Kites, and such vermin, share with him. Come on — ■ 
 
 My money, sir — ten crowns — or — 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Psha ! Is this 
 
 The root of all thy bawling ? Hold ! —these crowns 
 
 [Throws a purse. 
 From master Gage. So much — aye, ten times more, 
 Came I a debtor to him. Get thee hence, 
 And take thy fellows ! 
 
 [Deverell gazes a moment in surprise, 
 then goes out with attendants, Sfc. 
 Sir, you stand amazed, 
 And marvel at my freedom. I am here 
 In anxious suit, and — as you see — do serve 
 Myself the nearest way. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Amazed I am, 
 
 To note how angel-like a friendly face 
 
 Shines forth in such a gloom. What does it here? 
 
 Sir, you have named me honest. 'Tis the badge 
 
 And scarecrow 7 in my trade. He who treads ice 
 
 Must be shod smoothly as his glassy floor. 
 
 I can unmask a villain, but not aid : 
 
 I can detect, not practise, cozenage. 
 
 Truth is a hungry calling — in a word, 
 
 I starve, because I cannot o'erpass heaven, 
 
 And paint a black deed fair But to the point — 
 
 This double debt — how shall I pay it, sir, 
 
 And not with prayers ? 
 
42 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 Pembroke {hesitating). 
 I fear that — I — 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Say on. 
 
 You have a suit that must be pressed — and I, 
 You know, lack labour. I'll not slumber on't — 
 Be sure. And, for the cause, 'tis based, I know, 
 On right and honesty — else wherefore jump 
 The greater crowd, and light on Francis Gage? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 'Faith, sir, you bid me speak, and yet your words 
 Crush mine i' the forming. I'd bespeak your aid 
 To soften guilt scarce questioned. T is indeed, 
 A monarch-fault — a crime, whose giant shape 
 Unfolds so redly on the eyes of men, — 
 Displays such foul and hideous leprosy, 
 It might almost be stamped a fellow-sin 
 To speak on such a side — or interpose 
 One breath, when justice, armed and terrible, 
 Awakes to strike it down. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 'Tis 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Murder ! 
 
 GAGE (quickly). 
 That 
 
 Is called so, which sometimes is none. The fruit 
 Of madness — of enforced necessity — 
 Of sudden rage, repented and atoned — 
 Scowl Murder as he will, there's yet a stream 
 
Scene L] HONESTY. 43 
 
 Can wash the dull stain from his gory brow — 
 That men shall pause, and turn, and give the hand, 
 As to a friend restored. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 But here 'tis linked 
 
 With a most foul accomplice — one that oft, 
 
 Working less bloodily, hath murdered too — 
 
 Filthy ingratitude. Serene old age, 
 
 Rich in kind deeds, in love, and charity — 
 
 But I waste time — Sir Philip Lancaster 
 
 Is dead — by poison. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Dead ! — Then parricide 
 
 Is rife among us. Not a wretch but found 
 
 A father in him ! You would have me plead, 
 
 For his assassin ! I — scorned and grown poor 
 
 With shielding innocence — you'd have me — Sir, 
 
 I have not earned this insult at your hand. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 I leave you. Truly, I perceive 
 'T was wise to hold your honesty so dear, 
 For 'tis a costly title. {Pauses.) As regards 
 Those coins I — 
 
 gage (starting). 
 I had forgotten. Take 
 
 Your offered — Tis too late . . . Sir, do not bind 
 My gratitude in such foul, loathsome chains ! 
 Nay then, — some cause — some colorable end, 
 Why this fair life was ta'en. Come — come — I know 
 
44 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 There's comfort yet. A child will crush its toy, 
 
 And knit the shattered fragments up, in shape 
 
 Newly fantastic ; but a man — the worst 
 
 Of men, confesses he has no power to wake 
 
 The kingly spirit — rich, immortal life, 
 
 In the corrupted clod. No savage slays 
 
 In sport ! — There's nought to palliate — Madness ? No, 
 
 Nor wrong ? — nor insult ? — nor revenge ? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Again 
 
 I say, there's none. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Alas, — why left you then 
 
 Your wealthy fellows, to beset me here 
 
 With unsought bounty ? I am cheated — snared — 
 
 And — [Cyril leans njjon him* 
 
 'Tis & bargain. Now, sir, to your tale — 
 
 Out with it, quick. Shew me the ditch — the pool — 
 
 Where I must plunge these honest hands, and wring 
 
 The filthy dregs. I am guilt's sworn brother. Come, 
 
 Shew' t me, I say ! 
 
 PEMBROKE.. 
 
 That's reasonable, now. 
 
 Listen. An hour past sunrise, you shall hear 
 Two blows on yonder panel. When you'd see 
 The murderer 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 How — at large ? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 But trebly girt 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 45 
 
 With eyes that would outs tare the basilisk — 
 
 Stay — you may need more gold. — Here — here — and 
 
 here — 
 Mark me — an hour past sunrise. [Exit Pembroke. 
 
 gage (after a pause) . 
 Cyril — Cyril — 
 Is the fiend gone? 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 Our friend, dear brother! Look, 
 The gold — 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Sweet Cyril — 'tis the wage of hell ! 
 And I and honesty henceforth are foes. 
 
 [Falls on Cyril's neck. 
 
 SCENE II.— A SALOON IN TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 
 A feast — music, 8fc. — Guests rising to depart, 
 
 trafford (eagerly), 
 Nay — come; another round. 
 
 first guest. 
 Enough — already 
 Day blushes for us — Look! 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Draw down the blinds. 
 
46 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 Fresh lights ! — A strain there, ho ! gaily and loud — 
 Yon nodding minstrels — (a song). Wine! 
 
 SECOND GUEST. 
 
 This royal cheer 
 
 Has left us scant pretext 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Ten thousand, sir. 
 
 Dark scenes are acting in yon outer world 
 
 May soon eclipse our sunshine — wherefore, drink — 
 
 Bar contemplation out. Hate plotting — love 
 
 With rage contending — Drink, sirs ! — Avarice 
 
 Hugging the hoards that, one day hence, shall feed 
 
 The lean purse of some prodigal heir — Why, drink — 
 
 Here a poor toiling student — 
 
 \_A Servant enters. Trafford starts up. 
 Hold! — apart ! {goes aside). 
 Now then, thy news ? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 There's none, sir! 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Man — thy look 
 
 Spoke murder, at the least. (Sits). Another song ! 
 
 A merrier. Fill the goblets. — Gentlemen, 
 
 A health — (Guests rise). Indeed ! Well if it must be so, 
 
 'Tis pain to part — (aside). 'Twas more to welcome ye — 
 
 My courteous neighbours — hearty revellers — 
 
 Stout friends — (aside) by which I mean glib sycophants — 
 
 Rough bullies — snarling beggars — and smooth knaves. 
 
 My good friends all, farewell. [Exeunt Guests. 
 
 Fairfax! (Enter Steward). The hour? 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 47 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Night should be past, sir — yet it is not day. 
 The slow lids open as a weaned man 
 Wakes drowsily. I never knew the sun 
 So loath to shine. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 The world's too bad for him. 
 
 He's tiring — Hist you ! — What's i' the air? 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 I heard 
 
 No noise, sir. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Man, nor I. 'Twas fancy raised 
 
 Those shouts — and cries of — (a roll of thunder) — Hark ! 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Tis thunder. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Groans 
 
 Wrung from the over-burdened element — 
 
 Not — as some say— the Voice [Enter a Servant. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 A woman, sir, 
 
 Craved shelter from the storm, who, having heard 
 Your name, fell swooning — and hath since besought 
 A moment's speech with you. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Admit her. Leave me. [Exeunt Servants. Enter Infelice. 
 
 Spirit of unrest ! 
 
 Always prophetic of mischance and ill, 
 
 Why dost thou ever haunt me ? 
 
48 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 For revenge, 
 Or justice. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Canst thou threaten? — Foolish wench, 
 The spring-day of my passion hath gone by. 
 Did I not tell thee that I could not love? 
 Look on ray cheek — 'tis white; the eye-lidj dry — 
 There, take my hand — 'tis cold. You cannot trace 
 Love's fever in't. The pulse — 'tis slow and dull — 
 Passion's quick foot skips like a bacchanal ! 
 Speak, girl; what would you? Speak! 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 
 For the dear quiet meadows where we passed 
 
 That first unconscious time ? Why did you teach 
 
 The wrong you will not mend ? Why roughly wake 
 
 This restless, inward monitor — then leave me 
 
 To bear the scourge alone ? Why say that we 
 
 Should, in like peace, with hands thus fondly twined, 
 
 And hearts thus bound — pass on from youth to age — 
 
 And I, thy wife? Alas! I knew not then 
 
 What worth was in that word. Both blest, and I 
 
 So rich in love — I would have given it for 
 
 A kiss — a smile — a word — a very word — 
 
 Had you so wooed me. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Why this change ? 
 
 infelice {concealing her face). 
 Because 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 49 
 
 It lacked the mirror of the world's hard eye 
 To teach my heart its nakedness. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Enough — 
 
 My girl. You speak in vain. Between our souls 
 
 Is hung a veil, through whose funereal gauze, 
 
 Thy form, once fair, grows hideous. You know not 
 
 What toils environ me — what frowning fears 
 
 Make death seem beautiful. 
 
 infelice (eagerly). 
 Dash them aside, 
 
 And live ! .... A gentle voice to our lost home 
 Recalls us: come away. Quit these dark scenes, 
 And seek once more the valley where we strayed 
 From morn, not blither than our own glad souls, 
 Till languid eve, when to our lattice-pane 
 The prating night-breeze stole, with kiss and hymn, 
 To chide our tireless talk. Cheerly — sweet life — 
 Come — we have both been wanderers — 1, the first, 
 Have seen the peril of the way — and now 
 By honour's path — to truth — to peace — to love — 
 To calm in this poor world — and bliss beyond — 
 I woo thee back. 
 
 [Tr afford turns, deeply moved, and 
 holds her by both arms apart. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 My love! — my own! 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Ah — Heaven ! 
 
 He loves me yet! Thine own! Oh. let me die 
 
 E 
 
50 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 Thus, on thy breast — my weary, sad heart's home — 
 Thou wilt not force thy worn and shattered bark 
 To warring seas again ! 
 
 [Enter a Servant, running. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Sir! sir! Alas! 
 
 Oh, good Sir Philip 
 
 tr afford {seizing him). 
 Fellow — When 1 — Where 1 — How 1 
 Who did the deed? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 The murder, sir ! 
 
 tr afford {eagerly). 
 Away ! 
 Call up thy fellows — arm them 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Sir, 'tis vain. 
 
 The wretch was taken — 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Ah ... . Doubtless, some groom — 
 
 Some treacherous slave — or base mediciner 
 
 Fee'd to do murder. [Servant approaching, whispers 
 
 him. He drops his sword. 
 Dog — thou liest — 'Tis false! 
 Some palsied beldame duped thee with this tale, 
 Wrought out of drunken sleep. Her fears met thine. 
 Her night-mare howlings have infected thee 
 With spectral fancies. Be a man — 
 
 [Servant whispers again. 
 
Scene IT.] HONESTY. 51 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Alas ! 
 
 What dreadful thing has chanced? — speak — dearest — 
 
 speak — 
 Let me partake thy sorrow. 
 
 trafford {trying to avoid her). 
 Wo m an — go! — 
 You madden me — 
 
 infelice (clinging to him). 
 I love thee. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Hence, I say ! 
 
 Is this a time for — {in a low voice) — Infelice 
 
 infelice {franticly). 
 No! 
 
 Not for thy wooing voice ! 'Twas that betrayed me — 
 Now speak in thunder — stab me — trample me — 
 
 But say I shall be thine 
 
 [Trafford throws her off, and exit. 
 Listen, thou earth ! 
 
 Mine only parent — ere this humbled knee 
 Lift from thy dusty bosom life's dull load. 
 From throne and empire do I here depose 
 My o'erenduring love — thought, word or deed, 
 By love engendered, do confess a sin — 
 And every gift of nature — reason — strength — 
 Wit — courage — craft — devote, to furnish forth 
 A vengeance, worthy of my wrongs — and — thee! 
 
 [Rises, and exit. 
 
52 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 SCENE HI—THE APARTMENT OF GAGE. 
 He is reading. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 " Wherefore, to let the guilty 'scape the law, 
 
 4 ' Is so much mercy as he finds, who slips 
 
 " The hangman's gripe, and, leaping, is impaled 
 
 " Upon the spears below." .... Tis quaintly summed — 
 
 But with such close and cogent reasoning, 
 
 Thou plead'st for patience, and the sheathed sword — 
 
 'Tis won .... and herein will I marshal me 
 
 Upon the piteous side. (Shuts the book.) All-seeing 
 
 Power, 
 Who would'st not heed that Thy regenerate child 
 Still bowed in the idol's fane — in that he scorned 
 The painted dust before him — pardon me 
 This seeming fellowship — A sound — a step ! 
 The murderer comes. O guilt! what deadly fear — 
 What sick, expectant tremor, conscience-born, 
 Is eloquent in every glance and breath, 
 Footfall and finger-touch ! If thou dost dread 
 A brother s look, how — (A knock.) Thou knock'st timidly 
 For one of heart so bold ! Approach. Was't thus 
 Thou shedd'st, assassin, stealthy drop by drop, 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY, 53 
 
 Into the chalice, crowned to welcome thee — 
 
 The subtle life-bane ? Come, I say 
 
 {Enter Julia, alone.) 
 {Without turning.) Approach .... 
 Why dost thou hesitate ? I sit not here 
 To judge thee — but defend. What, robbed of speech ! 
 {Aside.) Perchance he weeps — and if he weeps, there's 
 
 shame — 
 And shame is pitiful. [Looks round, and starts up. 
 
 {After a pause.) 'Tis life ! It breathes ! . . . . 
 Oh, lady — why . . . Your will, beseech you ? — Pardon — 
 I did not dream of this. Twas Pembroke's tongue 
 Bade me expect — not thee — dear lady— but 
 A fiend of blood ! 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 He was my messenger ; 
 
 And did his mission truly. All, save he, 
 
 Fled from my side, scared by this bloody cloud — 
 
 And left me to the storm. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Grief, gentle lady, 
 
 For this most sudden and most foul misdeed, 
 
 Hath hurt your reason. God shall give you tears — 
 
 And, in those healthful moments, calmly join 
 
 The ill with its assuagement. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Do I speak 
 
 In words so unconsidered ? Pardon me. 
 
 I would be brief, for there, without, stand those 
 
54 HONESTY. [Act III, 
 
 Will not, I fear, be long controlled. Then know, 
 
 I am by nature cold and passionless ; 
 
 An un-emotioned, tearless wretch — Alas! 
 
 Not so, the happier. Such mental mould 
 
 Repels the pigmy darts that slay the weak ; 
 
 But where the arrow pierces it remains, 
 
 And rankles to the core. Not joy, nor grief, 
 
 Nor any sharp soul-sickness, ever dimmed 
 
 Mine eye — nor spurred these pulses. Place a hand 
 
 Here, on my breast, and there's the heart within 
 
 Coldly and sternly pacing, to and fro, 
 
 His natural prison. Yet if thou believe 
 
 Dry lids can argue madness — give me help, 
 
 And, in good time, I'll weep. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Speak, madam. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 / 
 
 Am called Sir Philips murderer! 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Thou? O Heaven ! 
 
 Falsehood itself recoils from such a word. 
 Who dares accuse thee? Tell me — let me seek 
 In his black heart 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Restrain this passion, sir. 
 
 It is mistimed. I seek an advocate— 
 
 A man of peace — crafty, and wise, and cool ; 
 
 Quick to discern, and patient to enlarge 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 55 
 
 Such flaw as chance may offer, in that net 
 Meant to enmesh the guilty — — 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Ay, the guilty — 
 But oh, not thee ! 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Have I denied the deed ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Thou wilt do so ... . How long wilt thou endure 
 
 This bold, inquiring gaze ? — I do not say 
 
 I think thee guilty — yet, on such a hand, 
 
 The leprosy of blood .... Proud woman, not 
 
 One haughty word ? Your lips move not— -your cheek 
 
 Retains its pale, inexplicable hue. . . . (Pauses.) 
 
 Then, serpent sin, erect thy coiling folds 
 
 To Heaven ! — Ha ! dost thou smile? 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Ay, sir ; to hear 
 
 Your courtly speech. But I '11 offend no more 
 
 In mirthful sins ... . let 's to the work in hand ; 
 
 For my unliveried pages will abide 
 
 No longer question. Listen. I was seized — 
 
 The fatal goblet in this hand — and this, 
 
 Glued to the old man's white and wrinkled brow, 
 
 Groping 'midst its dead pulses, to discern 
 
 If more were left to do. Thus was I found. 
 
 I — / — his nurse — his leech — his cupbearer — 
 
 Almost his pillow — for, no sleep so calm 
 
 As that which visited those grey old lids 
 
 At rest upon my bosom. 
 
B6 HONESTY. [Act JIT. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Thanks, kind Heaven ! 
 
 AH 's clear — all's safe! — You knew not — could not 
 
 dream 
 What death was in the cup ? 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 So well I knew 
 
 That silent agent's skill and potency, 
 
 That when I saw the baleful glitter hang 
 
 Upon his lip, I knew me fatherless, 
 
 Ere life had fluttered forth. Have 1 not said 
 
 None but myself did cater to his meal ?• 
 
 None but myself watched o'er his slumbering ? 
 
 Hath any seen me mourn him? — If not guilt. 
 
 It is a task well worth your eloquence 
 
 To give 't an honest mien, 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Eternal power! 
 
 Rend off the veil from this strange heart, and shew 
 
 Its natural colour. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Will you answer me ? 
 I sent for other aid. Alack, none came. 
 Who would hold counsel with a parricide ? 
 Will you take up my cause ? I pr'ythee, speak ! 
 
 GAGE, 
 
 I will defend thee — but . . . . O woman ! — woman ! 
 If thou hast done this, thou hast slandered Heaven — 
 Lied to the hand that framed and sent thee fbrth„ 
 A bright ambassador, to teach mankind 
 
Scewe III.] HONESTY. 57 
 
 Truth's grace and loveliness ! . . . Henceforth, oh, world ! 
 
 Change thy belief: the glass is cracked — untrue, — 
 
 Let pale suspicion hold the sense in thrall — 
 
 Smiles sting — tears threaten — and fair face9 sound 
 
 Alarms to justice ! — -Couch with beasts, that wear 
 
 Their horrid nature plain — but on that smooth, 
 
 Gentle hyena — thy own fellow man, 
 
 Hold watch untiring. Through whate'er is left 
 
 Our souls, of Eden, poisons lurk i' the flower — 
 
 The sweetest — ay, the tenderest ! (He turns away.) 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Your reply ? 
 
 I yet may live to prove But be resolved, 
 
 And quickly. I am called. 
 
 gage (eagerly). 
 Resolved ! — resolved ! — 
 Guilty or not, strange being, I am thine — 
 Heart, soul, and brain! — Oh, yet be merciful! — 
 Hear me. — Thou shalt! — 
 
 (Throws himself madly at her feet.) 
 Look — by this constant earth — 
 
 The air that clothes it — and the heaven that guides — 
 By every passion sown in human hearts — 
 Mine own unheeded love — by these — these tears — 
 (Stronger than their rough prison) — lastly, by 
 Thine own o'erladen or most wronged soul — 
 By word, or glance, or gesture — answer me, — - 
 Art thou not innocent ? 
 
 [Julia stamps slightly. Several per* 
 sons enter and surround her. 
 
58 HONESTY. [Act III. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 You see ... . And so, 
 Farewell. For ever ? or but till the hour 
 Of trial ? Speak. I may expect you ? 
 gage (hides his face). 
 Aye. 
 
 [Exit Julia, guarded. He sinks into his chair. 
 
 END OF ACT III, 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— A ROOM IN TRAFEORD'S HOUSE. 
 Enter Fairfax, with Infelice disguised. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 What canst thou do, boy ? 
 
 infelice {faintly). 
 Eat, sir. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 ' Faith, thou hast 
 
 A hungry look. What else? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Drink — if I might — 
 
 Sleep — if I could — but if I can't — why watch. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Canst lie, too ? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 No. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Why, there, thou dost. How old ? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Eighteen, sir. 
 
60 HONESTY. [Act IV. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 And no falsehood yet? Tell truth 
 For eighteen years ! Why there's no conscience, boy, 
 Could stand such strain. A page, too? Tis the first 
 Step of thy calling. 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 An it please you, sir, 
 
 Under your fair tuition, I'll soon 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Nay. 
 
 I'll no such elder pupils. You won't serve. 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 But I've some lighter arts, sir. I can sing, 
 
 Dance, strike the cymbal 
 
 Fairfax {turning). 
 Sing! boy. Canst thou sing? 
 
 Then serve my master. 'Faith, one strain shall more 
 Bestead thee, than a score of silken lies 
 Spun from the devil's own loom. My master's sick 
 For music. If thy warbling can allay 
 His frenzied spirit, we are thy debtors all ; 
 For since his kinsman's murder, he doth fright 
 All duty from him. It was but yesterday 
 He struck old Paul, Sir Philip's steward, that 
 His silver locks wept blood ; and Charles, his page, 
 Hath left in terror. Go, my boy, get food — 
 Dress, and come hither. [Exit Infelice. 
 
 That is fortunate ; 
 
 For this, his wretched cousin's trial-morn, 
 Must gall his reason sorely. Would 'twere done! 
 
 [Tr afford enters slowly and dejectedly. 
 
Scene!.] HONESTY. 61 
 
 Sir, I have done your bidding, and procured 
 A minstrel page. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 1 met him yonder. Tis 
 
 A fair, well-seeming boy There was a thought 
 
 Troubling my mind .... Ah, Fairfax — didst thou give 
 To the old man my message and the purse? 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Ay, sir. He thanked you. He would take no gold — 
 And, for the blow, 'twas of that sort that still 
 Recoils, and harms the giver. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Truly, Fairfax, 
 
 When my quick passion overcame me thus, 
 
 I saw not his grey hairs. I'm sorry that 
 
 I struck him. Go — {Exit Fairfax. 
 
 I am restless, sick, and sad — 
 
 Faint at the heart, and weary in the limb — 
 
 Could bluster with a sparrow — chide the wind 
 
 That, with the music of its westering moans, 
 
 Mocks my tumultuous — {Re-enter Fairfax). 
 
 How, sir ! I have said 
 
 I'll speak with none. 
 
 {Enter Deverell. Fairfax retires. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 "But friends. (Trafford turns away.) O, save you, sir! 
 Your scorn is out of season. 1 have tamed 
 Many such crested snakes, that, fangless now, 
 Feed at my hand. You owe me, as I think, 
 Some seven thousand (Looks at tablets) 
 
62 HONESTY. [Act IV. 
 
 tr afford {impatiently). 
 Know at once, old man, 
 I cannot pay thee. 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Nay, most honoured sir, 
 Who talked of payment ? Thomas Deverell 
 Feels for his friends. He's not a post — a stone — 
 And seeks no further than to 'scape the loss 
 His trustful nature, and too-ready hand, 
 Would daily thrust upon him. 
 
 TR AFFORD (aside). 
 
 Could my soul 
 
 One moment cast its burden, I might win 
 
 Much humour from this knave. Speak, master Deverell — 
 
 Shew me your drift. You knew my hopes — and how 
 
 This most — unhappy 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 Murder! Ay, I know 
 
 What's said — and I suspect that You look pale ! 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Proceed, man, and ne'er heed my looks. (Sits down.) 
 
 DEVERELL. 
 
 'Tis plain 
 
 She's guilty; and, as lucky fortune wills — 
 
 Old black-browed Gisborne sits in judgment — he 
 
 Whose life his own child sought. He'll not be found 
 
 Too hard of faith ! What slender proof soe'er, 
 
 He'll hang her, for ensample. But the law 
 
 Is complex and unsure — and those wise brains 
 
 Who lend, for wage, the talents Heaven assigned, 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 63 
 
 In aid of its worst foes, might haply light 
 
 Upon some nook of refuge. Now, admire 
 
 My prudence, sir. I have seen these gentlemen ; — 
 
 Some I have bought ; persuaded some ; of some, 
 
 Deep in my debt, made sure ; and so 'twill fall 
 
 That no lip opens on the accused side — 
 
 No witness called to palliate ; nor quaint rule 
 
 Be twisted to her safety . . . What remains? — 
 
 The murderess once disposed — her forfeit wealth 
 
 Due to the crown, shall, on petition, fall 
 
 To you, her kinsman. Is this — Ha ! how now ! 
 
 Fall'n senseless ! . . . Ho ! 
 
 [Enter Fairfax and Infelice. 
 Look to your lord. . . . Poor fool! {Aside — Exit.) 
 
 trafford {recovering). 
 Then he is gone — nay, leave me. — All is well. 
 I will o'ercome this weakness. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 Sir, the court 
 
 Send to require your presence. 
 
 TRAFFORD {to INFELICE). 
 
 Alan, — haste 
 
 To master Pembroke. Bid him follow me 
 
 Unto the court — of — Ah ! he knows. Away. [Exeunt. 
 
64 HON EST V. [Act TV 
 
 SCENE II.— THE STREET.-EXTERIOR OF THE COURT HALL. 
 
 Many persons assembled, and passing in and out. 
 Enter Pembroke and Infelice. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 This note, boy, to your master. In, at once. 
 
 Stay. Those dark eyes of thine have doubtless served 
 
 Their owner, at less hopeful need than that 
 
 Which now requires them. Let them wander. Note, 
 
 Chiefly, the prisoner — looks she red or pale — 
 
 Stands she — or sits — who's speaking — if the judge, 
 
 The elder of them — he with sluggish brows — 
 
 Fingers his robe, thus. Then, to me again ; 
 
 Here will I stand — beside this pillar. — Fly. 
 
 [Exit Infelice. 
 Myself I dare not trust. Here's one comes forth — 
 
 {Enter a Clerk). 
 A coarse, dull-featured knave. Doubtless, with him, 
 
 Fair looks are treason. To be beautiful 
 
 How goes the day, sir? 
 
 clerk (roughly). 
 Well. [Exit, and enter another. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Nay, then, 'tis lost. 
 
 Here comes another. Psha! a mild, fair boy — 
 
 Half weeping, doubtless — smitten deep with guilt 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 65 
 
 That's housed so witehingly. I'll try him, though — 
 How goes the day, sir ? 
 
 second clerk (with a conceited air). 
 Very gloomily 
 
 For justice — well for those, sir, who confess 
 Light consciences — and therewithal some skill 
 In poisons ; with, perhaps, a wife who hath 
 Outgrown their liking — inconvenient sire — 
 Or tough, immortal grandame — -sir — . . . 
 
 [Bows and exit, 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Tis plain, 
 
 I am no judge of feature — {Approaches closer.) 
 
 Still as death ! 
 
 What beating hearts anticipate the birth 
 
 Of fate, that pregnant pause may furnish ! — Ah ! 
 
 [A sudden and loud murmur heard within — 
 then enter two Advocates. 
 
 FIRST ADVOCATE. 
 
 Well spoke, i' faith ! But 'twas a bitter zeal 
 
 That o'erstepped nature. Ne'er was truth so mauled — 
 
 So daubed with fancies hypothetical, 
 
 And thrust in reason's room ! 
 
 SECOND ADVOCATE. 
 
 But 'twill not serve. 
 
 By the red twinkle of old Gisborne's eye, 
 
 'Twill never serve, [Exeunt. Enter another. 
 
 Pembroke (meeting him). 
 Whither so fast, my friend ? 
 
66 HONESTY. [Act IV. 
 
 THIRD ADVOCATE. 
 
 To burn my books, sir, sell my gown, and give 
 
 My tongue a lasting holyday. No hope 
 
 For plain, dull plodders more. Gage has cut through 
 
 The fruit of eloquence — sucked the honeyed core, 
 
 And left no sweets for other. He hath forced 
 
 Belief from weak hearts — from the stronger, tears, 
 
 Which dropped — I heard them — on the yellow scrolls 
 
 Spread out in seeming eagerness. He spoke 
 
 To nerves of steel — else were yon fair wretch free — 
 
 Half England at her footstool. [Exit hastily. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Ha ! [Gage staggers out. They surround him. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Huzza ! 
 
 Room here for master Gage ! the poor man's friend — 
 
 The honest advocate ! Huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 gage {struggling through them). 
 Off! — I breathe fire! — 
 
 a clerk {follows him eagerly with scrolls). 
 An hundred crowns, sir, — hold — 
 Plead but this cause to-morrow. We have long 
 Beheld your rising — No ? Then, fifty more — 
 Talent must win. Two hundred, sir, for this — 
 
 And every future 
 
 gage {distractedly). 
 Lost! lost! lost! [Rushes out. 
 
 CLERK. 
 
 O ! — mad. {Returns.) 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 67 
 
 Pembroke {to infelice who enters). 
 Come on, my boy — Away ! Let's after him. 
 
 [Exeunt. Crowd disperse. 
 
 SCENE III.__THE COURT. 
 
 Judges and officials seated. Julia stands before them, 
 guarded. Tr afford as accuser, with Advocates, Sec. 
 The Court, crowded with persons of both sexes, is dimly 
 lighted, and the whole wears a dismal aspect. 
 
 crier of the court. 
 Let all keep silence. Julia Lancaster, 
 Thou art convict of blood and parricide. 
 Wherefore should'st thou not die ? 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 No answer, woman? 
 
 You wear a bold front, too — but that's the trick 
 
 Of guilt, to hide its natural feature. Well, 
 
 Canst tell us nothing ? With what hellish drug,—- 
 
 What strange preparative, didst put to sleep 
 
 The watchful hounds of conscience, ere thy soul 
 
 Could leap their guard, and to its evil work 
 
 Creep, thief-like ? Wretch ! — why didst thou this ? Why 
 
 slay 
 The grey-haired soldier, from whose honoured life 
 Grew thine ? 
 
68 HONESTY. [Act IV. 
 
 SECOND JUDGE. 
 
 If, maiden, thou canst aught produce 
 In contradiction of thy threatened doom, 
 Our duty bids us hear it. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Good, my lords, 
 
 I have been schooled in sorrow — crushed in soul — 
 
 Walked in the gloomy paths where no sweet ray 
 
 Assures the wanderer's step, but that which burns 
 
 In his own breast. And I have learned to rule 
 
 Those mental furies — passion, hate, and fear — 
 
 To see nought strange in any giddy height 
 
 That guilt may reach at — nothing beautiful 
 
 In innocence assumed, — or worthy blame 
 
 In that too-eager justice which o'erleaps 
 
 The crouching guilt, and hunts the innocent 
 
 For that it seems to fly For this — this crime — 
 
 Stood it alone, that breath ye now require 
 Should render up to heaven as white a soul 
 As ever fled its crumbling wall of clay — 
 I am not guilty, sirs, of this dear blood : 
 But that is nothing. By this hand I raise 
 Up toward the source of truth, I do adjure 
 The doer of this dark and monstrous deed, 
 Shortly to meet me, and to answer, there, 
 The stain of double murder. I have done. 
 trafford {rising eagerly). 
 Sirs, I beseech you, spare her. Let her live — 
 If there be doubt. — Nature herself declares 
 This crime impossible— but nature's law 
 Redeems not life. If mercy — 
 
Scbne III.] HONESTY. 69 
 
 MANY VOICES. 
 
 Mercy ! mercy ! . . . 
 
 first judge (rising). 
 Silence that howling ! Master Trafford, hold ! 
 You do mistake your office, lending breath 
 To their besotted cry ! Above thy head 
 The murdered victim shakes his grizzled hair, 
 Moaning for vengeance ! . . . Shall our cups be baned ? 
 Harm dogs unpolicied mercy. Life for life ! 
 The sword, struck sidelong from the well-condemned, 
 Stabs twenty guiltless. Woman, raise thy head : 
 Look. As those cressets flicker and grow wan, 
 So ebbs thy life. 
 
 second judge (hastily). 
 'Tis true. But, maiden, hear. 
 I would adjure thee, in a milder sort, 
 To penitence and peace. All thoughts that teem 
 With life and hopeful energy, call home, 
 Destroy, and crush them earthward. O, that He 
 Who gave thine eye such glory — shed this garb 
 Of natural beauty round thine outward frame, 
 Had passed His Spirit o'er thine own — and left 
 The floods of earthly passion quenched and barred ! 
 Then — But I tax not thine o'erladen hours 
 With grief for things undone, — so counsel thee, 
 Amend this poor, faint gasp — this dwindled shred — 
 Concluding — you must die. 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 And, since 'tis meet 
 
 That, in the scraping this unnatural blot 
 
70 HONESTY. [Act iv. 
 
 From God's disfigured earth, there should be shewn 
 Some due abhorrence — though the rope be shameful, 
 And the axe keen, we will contrive that with 
 That fiery purge which • 
 
 SECOND JUDGE. 
 
 Brother, by your leave, 
 
 The power to vary the accustomed mode 
 
 Of execution rests not 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 With the king 
 
 It rests,— and, by this ermine which I wear, 
 I will so speak, as to make void all stay 
 Urged by his gracious nature. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 I am young. 
 
 How long, my lords, may be accorded me, 
 
 To urge life's feelings, memories, hopes, and fears, 
 
 To this untimely harvest — pluck their roots — 
 
 And cast them, in one fair and living heap, 
 
 Into my gaping grave? How long? 
 
 SECOND JUDGE. 
 
 Three days. 
 
 Which, by petition on the accuser's part, 
 
 May somewhat be enlarged. 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 Not at my will. 
 
 Threedays, thou murderess! — aye, thou witch — threedays. 
 
 Therefore, prepare ! 
 
 JULIA, 
 
 I will, my lord — and when 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 71 
 
 I shall recount my catalogue of sin — 
 
 Murder and witchcraft — as my chiefest crimes — 
 
 Shall first be thought of. 
 
 [As the Judges rise, Gage rushes 
 in eagerly. 
 first judge {turning from him). 
 Drag her to the cell ! 
 Proclaim the court dissolved. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Not so, my lords. 
 
 I have that to urge 
 
 FIRST JUDGE- 
 
 You are too tardy, sir. 
 
 Not even your fiery eloquence can stay 
 
 The course of justice longer. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Keep your scorn 
 
 Till you have heard me. Witness I have none : 
 
 But in those ancient volumes by whose rule 
 
 Our fathers meted justice, it is writ, 
 
 That if a prisoner, howsoe'er accused, 
 
 (The act not seen), shall by a champion's sword 
 
 Engage — and, ere the first star shines, prevail — 
 
 He shall be free. No scroll less merciful 
 
 Hath yet repealed this gracious mean, whereby 
 
 The all-seeing power of Heaven did oft confound 
 
 Our warped and stricken judgment. On the part 
 
 Of Julia Lancaster, I here demand 
 
 The wage of battle ! (A pause.) 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 Rather might I blot 
 
72 HONESTY, fAc* IV. 
 
 One twelvemonth from this waning calendar, 
 
 Than stretch a life so forfeit ! But the law 
 
 Cannot be curbed, nor lightly bent aside, 
 
 Even to good ends. 'Tis granted. Master Trafford, 
 
 Throw down your gauntlet. Do you pause, sir ? How ! 
 
 You are the challenger. (Trafford drops his glove.) 
 
 There lies his gage. 
 
 And with his body in a listed field, 
 
 Will he defend our sentence. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 It is well. 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 Where is your champion, woman ? Here, methinks, 
 Not all those pretty witcheries, that made 
 My worthiest brother grieve, shall much avail 
 To your behoof. .... There 's but a single step 
 From field to scaffold 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Aye — if Heaven so wills. 
 
 FIRST JUDGE. 
 
 Peace — thou profane one! — Should the appellant yield, 
 He dies before thee. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Aye — 
 
 FIRST JUDGE (to JULIA). 
 
 Can I not shake 
 
 Thy stubborn spirit ? Lead her to the cell — 
 
 Darkness and solitude must shroud the path 
 
 That ends in torture. [Exeunt Judges and others. 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 73 
 
 gage {approaching julia). 
 So much good, dear lady, 
 Glean from these savage taunts, to fortify 
 Your heart against worst fortune. Go not forth 
 To meet despair — nor, when it comes, avoid — 
 Yet, hope — Heaven quits not thus the innocent — ■ 
 A champion will be found. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT IV, 
 
ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— A LARGE GLOOMY APARTMENT IN THE HOUSE 
 OF THE LANCASTERS. OLD PICTURES HANG ROUND. 
 
 Tr afford at a table writing. 
 tr afford (starting). 
 Again — thou boding voice ! Will no thought drown, — 
 No reason stifle thee ? Have I not said 
 She shall not perish ? Can the eyesight weep 
 Red, visible blood — that wheresoe'er I turn, 
 A drop lies weltering ? . . . . Dim shapes flit by — 
 Old men, with halting gait and grizzled hair — 
 While from the walls an hundred grim old sires 
 Grin hate like mocking demons. O my soul ! 
 Fear'st thou to wear thy dearly purchased crown ? 
 Cup of my life — art thickening to the dregs, 
 And giv'st no sweetness for 't ? .... I cannot bear 
 This shrieking silence. . . . Alan! — Alan! Boy, 
 
 [Enter Infelice, 
 Come hither. In this tedious march of life, 
 The few steps thou hast walked with me have wrought 
 A pathway through my heart, I say, my boy, 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 75 
 
 I do believe none, none in all this world, 
 
 Saving thyself, doth love me. Tis most strange 
 
 How like thou art to — there! — 'tis gone again — 
 
 Form, air, and voice and feature — — Sure if those 
 
 We love — (Infelice laughs.) 
 
 Why smilest thou ? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Pardon me. To think 
 
 Of the fantastic forms love takes. 
 
 tr afford {thoughtfully). 
 'Twas much 
 
 To say I loved her then. But there's a thing 
 That bears so much love's semblance, that 'tis hard 
 To name it lowlier. The difference is, 
 It lacks the undying soul. It is a fire 
 That may be quenched, re-kindled, drowned again, 
 Yet hold a glimmering vitality, 
 Obedient to the hour : but love— that curse, 
 That serpent, fostered in man's heart to turn 
 Its little good to ill — can know no change — 
 No, not an hour's death. 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Do you yet repent 
 
 Your rage with Infelice ? Would you — — 
 
 TR AFFORD. 
 
 Boy, 
 
 I never knew repentance. 
 
 infelice {aside bitterly). 
 'Tis to learn. 
 
76 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 What say'st thou? .... Alan, I did bid thee once, — 
 Or 'twas my purpose — question of her fate. 
 What didst thou hear ? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Sir — she is dead. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Dead ! 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Aye. 
 
 She, that did so adore thee, lives no more. 
 
 Heart-dead, she wanders through a world that hath, 
 
 Like thee, no pity for the fool that gave 
 
 The bright pearl, honour, for the ruby, love — 
 
 And failed of both. Beware! for with such rule, 
 
 As night treads out the dead sun's track, doth hate 
 
 Spring from the sepulchre of love, that's slain 
 
 By him that was its keeper. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Be it so. 
 
 Here's scarce enough of peace for her revenge 
 
 To flesh its tooth upon. God rest her ! Dead I 
 
 I trust she is — The stamp of horse ! — Look out ! 
 
 Beneath the window — Fly, boy ! Wilt thou let 
 
 Good news stand shivering at the door, and leave 
 
 Its welcome, to cold lips of — [Exit Infelice. 
 
 Now — oh ! Now — 
 
 Pardon — reprieve — or .... .God! 
 
 [Sinks into his chair. 
 
Scene I.] HONESTY. 77 
 
 Come — Alan ! — What, 
 
 To hear a laugh — a happy cry ! a leap ! 
 
 A bounding step i' the stair — O crawler ! Gone 
 
 An hour! [Re-enter Infelice. 
 
 Thou hast it on thy cheek — Shriek, owl. 
 
 Is — is it — 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Death. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Why there's a black page turned — 
 Leave me — To bed ! — Sleep, if thou canst — No, stay 
 Without, awhile. These news have troubled me 
 Even past belief. My prayer refused — though backed 
 With untold wealth — Not gone? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 So please you, sir, 
 
 You have guests to supper, bade to celebrate 
 
 The pardon, you 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Why, let them come. But — stay — 
 The little flask thou know'st of — let it stand 
 Beside me, at the board. I warned thee once, 
 Did I not, Alan, what a dangerous gem 
 Gleams in that crystal casket? 'Faith, of late 
 It likes me to consort with things of death ; 
 I love to raise that flask before the sun, 
 And think, that every crimson mote that skips 
 And glitters there, can drag down to the grave 
 A giant's life .... It is a dreary thought, 
 
78 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 And should not be indulged . Thou'lt do this ? 
 
 [Imfelice smiles. 
 How? 
 My mission pleases thee ? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 It ever does 
 
 To serve my gentle lord. [Exit Infelice. 
 
 tr afford (starting). 
 Again — wild knell? 
 Life, be less dark — or death less terrible. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— A PRISON. 
 
 Julia lies asleep upon a rude couch. Gage stands beside 
 her — his arms folded. 
 
 gage. 
 She stirs not — hardly breathes .... If flattering tongues 
 Have purchased this brief rest — these latest friends 
 Will prove thy falsest. What new-plumed hopes — 
 What lively visions, glittering images, 
 All fresh and beauteous with reviving life — 
 Must fade anew, when I, whose hope thou wert — 
 I, to whose peace thou gav'st the vital beam— 
 Yes — / — shall bare this death-discoloured heart, 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 79 
 
 And tell thee — But a moment — I am loth 
 
 To snatch away the robe of this sweet calm — 
 
 Since deep, indeed, must be the rest that next 
 
 Shall marry those dear lids. If guilt be here, 
 
 Then conscience, sick of torture, drops the whip, 
 
 And dozes o'er the wheel — if innocence, 
 
 Would thou wast dead before me ! [Clock heard. 
 
 To my task ! 
 
 Wake — madam. [Kneels, and kisses her hand. 
 
 julia (awaking, and starting up). 
 Is it time ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Dear lady, yes, 
 
 For prayer. Address you to that Power above, 
 
 Who with such placid slumber sanctifies 
 
 And soothes the tedious end .... Shall I speak on ? 
 
 I know you do not fear. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 I'll say for thee. 
 
 Men hold my cause dishonour. I must die. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 'Tis even so. Death robes himself in peace, 
 And, dartless, comes to lead you by the hand, 
 Beyond the shafts of ill. Your sleep was calm — 
 And I was jealous, lest that busy life 
 Should too much cumber it. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Thoughtful and kind — 
 
 I did not hope — I do not fear — and, least, 
 
 With thee. 
 
80 HONESTY. [Act V 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 I thank you, madam. My reward 
 Is — to demand no gratitude. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Your speech 
 
 Is colder than the heart whose generous zeal 
 Might give it colour. Sir, I hoped that grief 
 Had exercised its better part and power — 
 To heal dissension. You have suffered, too. 
 We are at peace ? 
 
 gage {agitated). 
 At peace! 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Yes. For the wrong 
 
 My haughty spirit 
 
 gage {eagerly). 
 Dearest lady — hold — 
 For what is done, think it a written tale, 
 Heard, and forgotten — or remembered for 
 Some moral, harsh but true. Your scorn was just — 
 The sole fault, mine — and for the punishment — 
 Enough. 'Twas borne. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 You had that stay so oft 
 
 Enjoined to me, your pupil. You could hope. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 I had no hope. Nay, that is false — for all 
 Is possible, to life — and love is life — 
 Perfect, indissoluble, constant, pure. 
 Together tread they this perplexed way — 
 
Scene II.] HONESTY. 81 
 
 If there be joy, 'tis shared; if sorrow, still 
 'Tis light to bear the anguish of an hour ! 
 They kiss the scourge together — and, together, 
 (This garment of corruption cast away) 
 Become immortal. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 And can hope that's held 
 
 So cheaply — scorned at — as, in truth, was thine, 
 
 Be cherished still ? 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Aye — like a corpse embalmed: 
 Still fair to look upon. We know that life 
 Can never animate the beautiful, 
 Unmoving, silent mass, and yet 'tis sweet 
 To dwell on those fair features, and believe 
 We trace the foot-tracks of the flitted soul 
 Through its deserted dwelling. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 O, my friend, 
 
 And kindliest comforter ; these dungeon-hours, 
 In wasting this poor frame, have schooled my soul — 
 Stripped from mine eye the false, delusive glare, 
 That led my heart astray — but left, alas ! 
 Nought but weak words, and barren thankfulness, 
 Whose bare expression seems to mock and wound 
 Thy haughty friendship. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Pardon. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Pardon ? 
 
82 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 GAGE. 
 I 
 
 Once said I loved thee, lady. 
 
 julia (smiling). 
 Could I pay 
 
 In such poor coin thy service, all were well. 
 Warmly we plead for — loudly justify, 
 The faults whereof our secret hearts confess, 
 Themselves, the parentage. O, you have taught 
 More than submission — truth — and fortitude ; 
 A dearer task than peace ; a harder far 
 (To hearts like mine) than death — but, being learned, 
 More lovely-sweet than life, though pampered high 
 With towering fortunes. Hence, all pride ! all fear ! 
 All womanly reserve ! . . . Protector — friend ! 
 I love thee! 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Do not mock me, lady. What ! — 
 Is not this day ? Are not my senses clear, 
 Ripe, and distinctful 1 Not with words so vain 
 Requite the humble service 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Be it so. 
 
 It best befits thine honour, to reject 
 
 The humbled heart, that, sought in fortune's noon, 
 
 Was gracelessly withheld. Loosed from its pride — 
 
 Self-hated — beggared — weary — wherefore call 
 
 Its last few pulses thine ? 
 
 gage (in uncontrolled emotion) . 
 Life of my life ! 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 83 
 
 Guide of my doubting footsteps ! My sweet star, 
 That o'er the dark flood of mine anguish moved, 
 And told of worlds beyond ! What shall I speak ? 
 
 How tell thee Love me ! — Love ! . . . My brain grows 
 
 wild — 
 Now thrilling with a fierce and eager joy — 
 Now shivering in a blank despair. O, Heaven ! 
 Be present at our need. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Nay, dearest friend — 
 
 The calm you counselled me 
 
 gage (in a broken voice). 
 That voice — so soon 
 
 To mix with angels' — Art thou . . . Blessed hand ! 
 Thy cool touch melts my fever. Reason leaps 
 Back to her throne. Forgive me — I — I weep . . . 
 Scorn me not, Julia — they are happy tears — 
 
 Such as give life. One moment And this hand, 
 
 Once more upon my brow ! — Now will I save — 
 
 If not — precede thee ! [Rushes out. 
 
 SCENE III.— PEMBROKE'S GARDEN. 
 
 Morning twilight. Pembroke and Cyril. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 'Tis even as I feared. The day is come, 
 
 And no acceptance. Fame, the wide-mouthed jade, 
 
84 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 So loudly vaunting Trafford's skill in arms, 
 Hath done us mortal hurt. O, never debt 
 Did gall so bitterly an honest heart, 
 As mine to Douglas Trafford, which hath glued 
 My rapier — here — (Strikes his scabbard.) 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 What answer has arrived 
 From Mordaunt? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 " That his honour and his will 
 
 Held strife." The message found him, with his band, 
 
 Upon the eve of battle. 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 And from Seyle? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 " He is too old, and, were his years more few, 
 
 Lacks gold to furnish him. His heart" — ha — ha! — 
 
 " Is with the right." 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 Sandell — and Gosselin? 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Supped last night with the challenger. I stayed 
 Their purposed missives. Who comes here ? 
 
 [Enter Gage, 
 gage. 
 'Tis I, — 
 Friend of the innocent. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 I'll not usurp 
 
 Your title. I'll be thine. But how is this ? 
 
Scene III.] HONESTY. 85 
 
 Your joyous look — proud bearing 'Faith, you shew 
 
 More of the bridegroom than the mourner. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Tis, 
 
 Indeed, my wedding morn. Sweet music fills 
 Mine ears ; my heart seems to expand and toy, 
 Like some gay swimmer through a fairy sea — 
 And feelings, rich as gold, that ne'er believed 
 They had a being, start in legions forth, 
 Unveiling worlds of beauty. All will, sure, 
 Go well ; and, be't in life or death — I'll hold 
 The augury fulfilled. 
 
 Pembroke (shuddering). 
 The flames ! — 
 
 gage (starting). 
 O, well 
 
 Reminded ! Joy makes selfish. Here, my Cyril. 
 This (Gives a sheathed knife) to the lady Julia, with best 
 
 speed. 
 Bid her conceal it — for a friend so true 
 Is scarce in fashion ; — let her not employ 
 Too rashly its sure aid. The point is tried — 
 If but a baby-finger urge it home, 
 No second touch is needed. (Exit Cyril.) Now, my 
 
 friend — 
 Farewell ! — and if from this day's promised gloom 
 Spring joy, thy heart, I know, will not be last 
 To welcome it. Heaven guard the innocent now ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
86 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 SCENE IV.— THE APPROACH TO THE PLACE OF EXECUTION 
 — SMITHFIELD. 
 
 The scaffold, pile, Sfc. behind, with guards, Sfc. 8fc. 
 Crowds of persons assembled, and pressing in. 
 
 A WOMAN. 
 
 A goodly day, my gossips. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Very fair. 
 
 From Brentford ? 
 
 FIRST WOMAN. 
 
 Aye. My little Michael, here, 
 
 (Your cap, sir) begged so takingly to see 
 
 The pretty lady burned, that Boy, don't tease 
 
 That butterfly ! Let go, sir ! It hath bones 
 
 And sinews like our own. Wilt never learn 
 
 Humanity? — And so, ma'am, 'twas agreed 
 
 To make a merry day on't — and we go 
 
 To supper, in Eastcheap. {They pass on.) 
 
 A FORESTER. 
 
 Is that the man ? 
 
 [Trafford enters with Pembroke and 
 others, and stands bach. 
 Beshrew him for a coward ! You ne'er see 
 A fellow of such frightened aspect, but 
 There's a black heart to match it. 
 
Scene IV.] HONESTY. 8ff 
 
 A CLERK. 
 
 A MAN. 
 
 So — 'tis said 
 
 She has confessed. j. Hurrying past. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 No— 110 ! 
 
 And, if she did, 
 
 She lied ! 
 
 [Julia enters, in white; her feet bare, 
 a crucifix in her hand — a Priest be- 
 side her — Guards, Sfc. 
 confessor (speaking as they enter). 
 
 This holy resignation. They 
 
 Who take their fortune frankly by the hand, 
 
 If it be foul of mien, the quicklier growl 
 
 Familiar with the sterner lineaments, 
 
 And study, so, contentment. If we sift 
 
 The gem and offal fairly, 'twill be found— 
 
 You heed me not, my daughter. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Father, yes. 
 
 I did but — I — (Still gazing round). 
 
 confessor (in a low voice). 
 If there be any link 
 More dear than other 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Nothing — no — and yet 
 
 That promise — and forgotten! — But 'tis nothing — 
 Only I thought I had a friend. Look, father — 
 Stand you between my heart and that false world — • 
 
88 HONESTY. [AcrV. 
 
 For we have nought in common now hut form, 
 And promise of decay. 
 
 several {pressing round). 
 Madam — sweet lady — 
 
 Heaven save you, madam . . . help you — give you strength, 
 And shame your hase accusers ! . . . . 
 
 CONFESSOR. 
 
 Hush, my children, 
 Plead for her soul. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 I pray you, do so, friends : 
 
 For this poor body, it is hurt past cure. 
 
 Nor can the ill wherewith I languish now 
 
 Acknowledge one new pang. Hear my last words. 
 
 There is more pain in serpent-slander's tongue 
 
 Than any mortal death. . . . Within this hand, 
 
 (She takes the Confessor's hand.) 
 As in a sacred casket, have I lodged 
 That dear bequest — mine honour. Heaven shall aid 
 To whiten my stained name. Blessing and health, — 
 I mean the heart's health, friends, — wait on ye all 
 Till next we greet each other. Some poor gift, 
 In thought of other days, more fair, perchance, 
 Than these have been, I'd fain bestow on ye : 
 But they have ta'en all from me, save this robe, 
 And my poor waning life .... I come, good father — 
 So heartily I do beseech your prayers — 
 I have begun to die. [Procession passes on. 
 
 PEMBROKE (to TRAFFORD). 
 
 What would you, man ? 
 
 Why did you catch mine arm ? 
 
Scene IV.] HONESTY. 89 
 
 tr afford (hoarsely) . 
 The world goes on ! 
 
 The sun above us — the green earth below — 
 The living, leaping waves — the multitude 
 Of human atoms, dancing up and down ; 
 All keep their wonted office — and no howl, 
 Nor strange eclipse — nor earth-engendered flame. 
 Striking the vain, presumptuous souls of men — 
 Consorts with what we look on. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 Guilt should die. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 It should so ; aye — and blench and quake — not wear 
 
 This martyrish visage. It should not outface 
 
 Even death. I cannot look upon 't. I'll turn 
 
 Mine eyes . . . She was my playmate — Speak — 'tis o'er? 
 
 julia (pauses suddenly). 
 I have forgotten something. Father, hold ! 
 And you, gentle my executioners, 
 Temper your zeal with patience. I must speak 
 One moment with my kinsman. 
 
 confessor (interposing). 
 Dearest daughter 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Father, refuse me — and your holy work 
 May lack fruition. Drag me not to death, 
 Which I reject not, so my soul be freed 
 From earthly cumberings which afflict and stay 
 Its passion. 
 
 trafford (shrinking away as she advances). 
 Back, sirs ! — I withdraw 
 
90 HONESTY. |Act V. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 You cannot. 
 
 What ! — are you mad ? 
 
 trafford {attempting to pass). 
 The air — the throng — the weight 
 
 Of arms 
 
 Pembroke {detaining him). 
 She comes, man. — See, she comes! 
 
 trafford {madly). 
 Stand off ! 
 
 Restrain your prisoner ! — I'll not hear her ! — What ! — 
 Hold speech with one condemned ? 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Aye — but alone. 
 
 {Approaches nearer.) Speak, Douglas — have I kept my 
 vow? 
 
 trafford {trembling and pale). 
 Tis kept. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Why, so far — well. But, cousin, I believe 
 
 Your fancy never limned these terrors forth : 
 
 Ne'er dreamed what shameful rings should circle me — 
 
 What fiery tongues should lap my bounding blood — 
 
 And stamp upon my thrice-accursed name 
 
 The brand of such a deed. O, thy revenge 
 
 Stopped short of this — and you, perhaps, but sought 
 
 To prove my woman's faith. If this be so, 
 
 Take off that fatal pledge — unchain my tongue — 
 
 Give back my life and honour. Every breath 
 
 Is thine, that's so bestowed. My wealth regained, 
 
 I will endow a holy monastery, 
 
Scene V.] HONESTY. 91 
 
 Whence, day by day, shall priestly voices rise 
 To win sweet mercy to thy perilled soul — 
 Speak, Douglas! — 
 
 trafford {stammering). 
 The — the vow ! — To innocence 
 Death has no pang. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 And, to the guilty, life 
 No joy. Farewell ! 
 
 trafford {eagerly). 
 
 — pardon — 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Seek it there. 
 
 {Exit Trafford. 
 
 1 stay the pageant. Well, sirs : I have said. 
 
 \_A distant shout as the scene closes. 
 
 SCENE V.— TRAFFORD'S HOUSE. 
 He rushes in distractedly . 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Mercy ! oh, horror ! Cease — pursue me not, 
 Blood-seeking phantom ! W T hat is done, is done 
 I cannot save thee — nor my own lost soul 
 
92 HOiNESTY. [Act V 
 
 From thy denouncement — O, be merciful! 
 
 Gracious thou wert in life — and in thy truth 
 
 Most womanly ! . . . 'Twas nought! I speak to air — 
 
 These childish wailings must be stilled. O heart, 
 
 Watch and be bold — for I am sure our fears 
 
 Take hideous forms to torture us. A step ! — 
 
 Who comes ? [Enter Infelice hastily. 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 'Tis I, sir. You must to the field — 
 Fair sport awaits you. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Sport! 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 To such an arm, 
 
 No more. But haste ! and while you gather on 
 
 [Assists to arm him. 
 These sparkling aids to conquest — know, sir, how 
 At the last moment — as the white, bare feet 
 Of the lost maiden pressed the fatal pile, 
 As though the earth had travailed with the load 
 Of sin laid on her bosom, there leaped forth 
 A gallant champion. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Know'st him? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Aye — 'twas Gage. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Why, boy, the very glitter of my steel 
 
 Must end that quarrel. Seeks he death from me? 
 
Scene V.] HONESTY. 93 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 At least 'twill be an honest end You'll drink 
 
 Ere you go forth ? [Brings cups. 
 
 TR AFFORD. 
 
 I need it not. O Heaven ! 
 
 My brain ! . . . Nay, if thou wilt, I'll taste. My cup 
 Tastes sweetest from thy hand — [Drinks deeply. 
 
 Tis cheering — How ? — [Infelice drops the goblet. 
 
 Art sick, boy ? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 With a sudden fancy, sir. 
 
 If your abandoned — Infelice — ha ! 
 
 Could she behold your triumph — 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Let her die! 
 
 And memory perish with her ! 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 As you say. 
 
 Die truth ! die constancy ! Love ! love's a thing 
 
 To curse — to trample — to forget. — Away ! 
 
 [Exeunt hastily. 
 
94 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 SCENE VI.-SMITHFIELD, AS BEFORE. 
 
 With lists prepared. Judge of the field, Marshals, Sfc. 
 Julia and Guards — Pembroke — Gage armed -^ 
 and Cyril. 
 
 judge. 
 
 Comes he not yet? 
 
 officer (looking forth). 
 
 Not yet, my lord. He takes 
 
 The summons coldly. 
 
 gage (crosses to JULIA). 
 
 Look around you, love. 
 
 In that strange human ocean — now so still — 
 
 What storm and tempest lower ! What biting rock — 
 
 And hollow, smiling vortex, fill with snares 
 
 The pilgrim's way — that ne'er may peril more 
 
 Our happy, homeward barks. 
 
 julia (in a low voice). 
 
 My heart is broken. 
 
 O, Francis! while my sorrows were my own, 
 
 I bore them ; — now that thou hast made them thine, 
 
 I faint and fail . . . O God ! the foe ! I feel 
 
 His step upon my heart — 
 
 [Enter Trafford and Infelice. 
 
 MARSHAL. 
 
 Would you speak aught 
 Ere we give signal ? 
 
Scene VI.] HONESTY. 95 
 
 trafford {averting his head from julia). 
 No. Your part at once, 
 And end this mockery. 
 
 marshal (in a loud voice), 
 Take your places ! — On ! 
 And God defend the right! [Trumpet. They engage. 
 
 trafford (pausing). 
 You are wounded. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Psha! 
 
 Not felt. Come on, sir. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 Blood is victory. 
 
 (To the Marshal.) May this conclude ? 
 
 MARSHAL. 
 
 The fight is a Voutrance. 
 One must submit. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 i" do not. To your guard ! [They fight again. 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 His strokes grow feebler — yet he shews no hurt — 
 What ails your master, boy? 
 
 INFELICE. 
 
 Sir, there are harms 
 
 Not of the sword. Some hearts may be assailed 
 
 More easily within ; and, we have seen 
 
 Unwholesome drinks may strike 
 
 Pembroke (turning). 
 What do you mean ? (Shout.) 
 Ha ! — look — 'tis over ! 
 
 [Trafford throws up his arms, and falls. 
 
96 HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 TRAFFORD. 
 
 I am slain — but not 
 
 By thee. Tis poison — I am dying — oh ! — 
 
 gage {standing over him). 
 Confess, unhappy man. 
 
 marshal {interposing). 
 His life is yours. 
 But if his guilt be — 
 
 gage {fiercely). 
 Back ! — Confess — confess ! 
 
 trafford {raising himself). 
 Why, listen, then. I murdered Lancaster! 
 
 [Exit Pembroke. 
 And, for my safety, would have strangled her — 
 But for that oath which — wretched fool ! — she kept 
 
 Ev'n to the grasp of death O me! — these pangs 
 
 Would search and rend the dearest secret forth 
 
 E'er locked in mortal bosom ! Ha ! a light 
 
 Shoots o'er me Look ! — yon page, that shrinks and 
 
 cowers — 
 
 — haste ye drag him — I must speak — one 
 
 word — 
 And to his ear alone — (Infelice is brought near.) 
 My faithful page, 
 
 1 have a doubt. Resolve me. 
 
 [Infelice stoops. He snatches her dagger, and stabs her. 
 
 Know from this — 
 
 My Infelice I — dying men see clear. [He dies. 
 
 gage {sinks at julia's feet). 
 Spotless and saved ! My task is nearly done — 
 
Scene VI.] HONESTY. 97 
 
 One word, and then, good night — Tis coming — Hark ! 
 [Shouts within — " Pardon! Pardon !" 
 Pembroke (rushing in with a parchment). 
 Pardoned and free ! [Guards withdraw. 
 
 gage {leans forward). 
 O ! . . . . happy ! . . . . 
 
 PEMBROKE. 
 
 All our hearts 
 
 Rejoice with thee, sweet lady. May your years 
 
 Be happy in the land. 
 
 julia (her eyes still fixed on gage). 
 I thank you. But 
 
 Here's one should not be silent 'midst the joy 
 Himself hath wrought. See you not these good friends 
 That crowd to hail your victory ? Up, and hear 
 Your grateful 
 
 CYRIL. 
 
 Lady, he has fainted — Hark ! 
 
 What sound ? — 'Tis trickling blood — and he is 
 
 julia (fiercely). 
 Peace ! 
 
 Who saw him stricken ? You are mad. This blood 
 Is nought — though it hath made him pale. He faints 
 From this unwonted toil — But he will speak, 
 
 And soon Look, how he grasps me by the hand ! 
 
 Aye — close — for 'tis thine own .... I pray you all, 
 Stand back awhile .... Dear Francis — gallant friend — 
 True lover — true alike in sun and shade — 
 Thou rest'st on Julia's bosom — Francis — I — 
 I tremble at thee Speak — nay, once again ! 
 
 H 
 
9S HONESTY. [Act V. 
 
 Dost dream ? Art happy ? Lov'st thou me ? 
 
 Alas — 
 Still mute ! There looks no spirit from thine eyes, 
 Though they dwell on me still — In this great palace, 
 
 The noble tenant slumbers Cold — ah ! — cold — 
 
 This life-bestowing hand Nay, I will look 
 
 No more upon the world. Here — here is mine — 
 
 All's chaos else — all darkness, cloud, and gloom, 
 
 And death — [Kneels down beside him. 
 
 cyril {approaching gently). 
 O, comfort, lady ; there's a bliss 
 Beyond thy dear affection. 
 
 julia {turns to hinS). 
 
 Cyril Brother! {Bursts into tears.) 
 
 [Curtain falls. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY MOYES AND BARCLAY, CASTLE STREET, 
 
 LEICESTER SQUARE. 
 
Recently published by the same Author, 
 
 THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM ; 
 
 A DRAMA. 
 
 " It is written with spirit and poetical feeling throughout, and has many 
 scenes that would produce a strong effect in the acting." — New Monthly 
 Magazine. August 1839. 
 
 " The versification is easy and natural, the sentiments appropriate, and 
 the conception of the characters historically just." — Edinburgh Advertiser. 
 July 1859. 
 
 " This play, in its general action, is founded on the singular event known 
 in history as * Raleigh's Conspiracy ;' but derives its particular interest, 
 which is of a most touching and pathetic character, from circumstances 
 entirely of the author's own invention. The reader will find it a play of 
 stirring interest, written with much ease, delicacy, and force." — Court 
 Gazette. 
 
 " The play before us appears written with a degree of talent which we 
 did not expect in a writer so totally unknown to us. It is the production of 
 a very rich and vivid fancy, and confers very high credit upon this young, 
 and hitherto unknown, poet." — Bell's Weekly Messenger. 
 
 " Exhibits a vigour and freedom in the dialogue that sufficiently indicate 
 the power to achieve future triumphs."— Monthly Chronicle. 
 
 " With less pretensions, this play possesses more merits than the gene- 
 rality of such attempts. We could instance many passages, combining both 
 poetic beauty and dramatic interest." — Athenaum. 
 
 " With a strong and fervid vein of poetry, with considerable powers in 
 the conception of character, with the ability to stir and awaken the feelings by 
 exciting incidents and well-designed situations, the author of the ' Lords of 
 Ellingham,' hitherto unknown as a writer or a poet, has produced a drama 
 which may certainly rank among the first of modern theatrical compositions. 
 .... It is no mean praise to be able to say that Mr. Spicer's style is scarcely 
 inferior to that of Otway, of whom he, in several places, reminds us ; nor do 
 we know any modern dramatist, with the exception of Joanna Baillie and 
 Sheridan Knowles, in a comparison with whom he would not most decidedly 
 be superior."— Par thenon. June 29, 1839. 
 
ALSO, 
 
 LOST AND WON; 
 
 A DRAMA. 
 
 " The date of this drama is the end of the thirteenth century, and the 
 country, the characteristics of which it seeks to illustrate, is no other than 
 our own. We hope the author will be fortunate enough to get it represented, 
 which we are in justice bound to say, it deserves much more than severaJ 
 dramatic efforts we have recently seen presented to ' a discriminating 
 audience.' " — New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 " The author of this play has already published a tragic piece of very 
 striking merit, the ' Lords of Ellingham,' and is one of those • unacted' 
 dramatists whose claim to a public hearing will not be thought at all the less 
 decisive, because it has been urged with modesty. Mr. Spicer seems to 
 think that he can afford to wait till others find out the value of what he has 
 done, or may be able to do. He is satisfied that his play should even be 
 thought bad or indifferent, if it serves, with others of the same kind, ' even- 
 tually to awaken the dormant energies of some in whom the consciousness of 
 ability renders their mental sloth the more inexcusable.' But this play is not 
 bad and not indifferent. It is too rich in manly and pathetic writing to be 
 either." — Examiner. 
 
 " The subject of Mr. Spicer's new drama verges in its main point so 
 closely on one or two familiar plays as to keep us in a perpetual fidget lest 
 we are about to plunge into a species of interest with which we are already 
 somewhat sated, and which, at best, is not very well adapted for the stage. 
 But as we advance the dilemma becomes diminished, the fogs clear away, 
 and a dangerous plot is ingeniously turned off into a path of unexpected and 
 very welcome sunshine .... There are beautiful passages replete with 
 dramatic power and poetical feeling. The diction is every where nervous 
 and full of that fresh and apt energy which tells with such effect in the 
 delivery." — Atlas. 
 
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